


Money Money

by UWotMaTe



Series: Grave [1]
Category: Banana Bus Squad, Derp Crew - Fandom
Genre: Agents, Crime Solving AU, Eventual Smut, FBI, Forensics, Graphic, Graphic descriptions of violence, Later Pairings In Later Editions ;), M/M, More Characters in Later Editions, Murder Mystery, Pining, Psychology, Slow Burn, Smut, more to come - Freeform, part one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-11-21 11:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11356359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UWotMaTe/pseuds/UWotMaTe
Summary: It isn't everyday you find the body of a millionaire in the sandy Coronado beaches. It's up to our team to solve the murder of their close friends.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I've got six parts already planned out. If things go well, there is the possibility of more. Strictly rare(ish) pairs because they deserve long stories too. More to come as always every Tuesday. Enjoy~

The sun bathed the beach in a stunning array of colors. The sand shone like ten million gemstones beneath its radiant light. The ocean was playing joyously with the seaweed and the moss. It lapped up the shore in greedy mouthfuls, taking away with it the ruins of yesterday’s forgotten sand castles and leaving behind small shells and sticks. The wind was a sweet melody that weaved its fingers in people’s hair and tossed it about lightly. It was chilly that morning. 

The beach was empty of it's usual crowds. A few people lay on the sand and did their best to sun bath. Small children darted about. An old man was grinning ear to ear. He giddily ran about the sand with his new metal detector in his hand. He knew that he was too old to want to be a pirate anymore. He knew he didn't have the back to go sailing, or the stomach to handle the rocking of the waves. He knew that his wife, as sweet as she was, would never let him go around on a boat terrorizing other people for their money and other valuable things. But he felt like a little kid again with his new toy. He felt like a pirate. With his metal detector, he could hunt down buried treasure! What more could he ask for? 

This far, his haul had been magnificent. He'd found sixteen fishing hooks, seven dimes, two quarters, and a hoop earring big enough for him to wear as a bracelet (which he was). He couldn't wait to go home and show his wife all of his treasure. He couldn't wait to show her the funny looking hook and the quarter made in Florida. He figured she'd like that, she could add it to her coin collection.

He moved slowly, so as not to miss a thing! What if he went too fast and missed a treasure chest loaded with riches? He couldn't risk that. So he took his time and laughed at every little thing he found. 

For a while, his machine had been quiet. He figured it was perfectly fine. Treasure comes in spurts, not in a trail. He was listening to the little machine’s beeping as hard as his little ears could. He quickly grew excited when he heard its little chirps grow louder and more anxious. He'd found something!

He knelt down with a bit of difficulty. His old knees popped and cracked. He knew he'd be sore when he got home but he didn't care. His trembling hands began to push the sand away. He ran his fingers through the tiny grains and beamed when they finally felt something. He caught ahold of it and pulled. It was heavier than he thought it would be.

How exciting! Had he done it? Had he found treasure? Oh, Mabel wasn't going to believe this! Maybe now he could buy her that little dress she wanted oh so bad. Or maybe he could surprise her with flowers and a pretty necklace. Maybe he could buy her another pair of her favorite shoes. He planned to spoil that woman when he got back home. 

He gave a mighty tug and ripped the thing from its prison. The force of it threw him back. For a second, he couldn't breath. The air had been flushed from his lungs. It returned to him in the form of triumphant laughter. He sat up and turned to see what he'd found. 

His laughter died instantly upon his eyes recognizing his finding. An arm. That was definitely an arm. Blood made sand cling to cold skin in mud like clumps. It was limp and lazy. The wind brushed aside the dry sand to reveal that the arm was still connected to the rest of the body. It had to be. 

The old man felt his heart race wildly in his chest. He shook viciously. The doctors weren't going to like this. Besides him, the metal detector screamed. It was glued to the thick ring that was resting on the arm’s unmoving finger. He needed to call someone. He needed to tell somebody!

This spring hadn’t been the best. It was rainier this season that it ever had been. The skies would look nice and pretty for maybe a couple of hours then the heavy clouds would swarm. The wind would pick up and it would rain lightly. The rain was never really consistent either. There was no thunder, no lightning, the rain never lasted for more than a couple of seconds. It was... annoying.

Well, at least it was to Luke. He liked the angry storms. He liked the smell the plants gave off after it rained. He liked hearing the water hit the roof and windows while he was snuggled up either on the couch or in bed with a good show. He liked the comforting feeling it gave him. 

This kind of rainy weather was the teasing sort. It didn't really do anything but make promises it just couldn't keep. It was cold, dark, and damp out. It was depressing more than anything else. 

He watched the sky hoping that maybe the little drizzle would spark to life again and stay around. But it didn't look like it. He sighed heavily and stepped away from the window. He watched his kitchen for a second. Part of him wanted to clear his table so that he could start on a new sculpture. Another part of him wanted to clean his hand gun. A bigger part of him just wanted to take a nap. But the coffee he still held in his hand was doing its job just enough to make him restless. 

He paced about slowly, uncertain of what to do with himself. He tasted the ideas of activities in his head and frowned. Nothing sounded exciting. Nothing sounded interesting. He plopped down on his couch and sorted through the channels in the search of something entertaining. But there was nothing. Nothing but cooking channels made for old white people and infomercials. 

He was bored. Painfully so. Growing up, he used to think that being an adult would be this giant movie. He'd go to all the places he wanted, eat everything that tasted good at the moment, explore and live his life to the fullest. This was nothing like that at all. Being an adult wasn't anything like how TV made it out to be. TV made life look exciting. 

He groaned aloud, mostly just to hear some noise more than anything, and shut off the TV. He tossed the remote aside and sat there. He didn't want to get up. There was no real reason to. There was just nothing to do!

But the coffee had finally kicked in and it was starting to become physically uncomfortable to be sitting around doing absolutely nothing. He got back to his feet resentfully and began to map out his house. Maybe he'd find entertainment in another room. 

He was starting to regret not following Evan to complete their little errand list. But who in their right mind got up to go get their brakes checked at six in the morning? Half the time, they wouldn't wake up till nine. Waking up early was just ridiculous to him. If it could be avoided, then it should be avoided.

Still it was awfully lonely cooped up in their house with no voice to answer his and nothing to keep his mind or hands busy at work. The time couldn't be passing more slowly. 

He found the only thing really able to capture and hold his attention was his phone. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. His thumbs moved aimlessly across the screen and he could never seem to stay within the same app for more than a couple of seconds. 

Maybe it was his subconscious or maybe it was boredom that brought him to the traveling apps he'd downloaded weeks ago on accident. He scrolled through miles of beautiful resorts across the world and felt his heart melt at each. He wanted to travel the world since he was a boy. He loved exploring. He loved the different cultures he'd find himself in. He loved the art that decorated the streets or the museums. And out of all of the countries he saw, he loved Greece the most. 

He adored the colors and the the scenery. He loved it all. He adored everything about Greece. It looked like the best place to let his artistic abilities grow and flourish. 

Tickets didn't look too expensive. They were without a doubt within his budget rang. Maybe Evan would like the little get away. They could both use a change. Luke knew that he certainly got bored staring out the same windows at the same scene for too long. Surely Evan did too. 

It could be romatic. A little treat. They both deserved it. They could spend the summer across the sea. They could cuddle, get frisky, paint, what ever they wanted. It would be nice.

He spent the afternoon scanning through different little resorts for them to stay at. It was going to be an expensive trip, but that's what they saved up for, right? For trips and retreats? He picked out the best three he could find. He could show Evan later and decide on which then.

Speaking of the devil, Luke heard Evan's car pull into the drive way. Luke heard the car door shut. He set aside his phone and rushed to meet him.

Evan announced himself quickly. He stumbled into the kitchen struggling to carry way too many shopping bags in his hands. He hobbled about and set everything down in a heap. He groaned once his fingers were free from the pain. 

“They didn't have the chips you like so I just got you original. I think they were a limited time thing. Hope you're ok with pasta for dinner. They had a sale on the tomato sauce and I figured we hadn't had any in awhile. We could also probably make pizza. Oh! And I forgot to get new pillow cases. I can pick those up after work though so we’re good.”

Luke moved into the kitchen to help put everything away. They danced around each other synchronized and perfectly timed. Before long everything was where it was supposed to be and their cupboards were restocked. 

“Are we hand making our noodles again because last time that didn't work out for us all too well,” Luke reminded gently. Evan sighed and rolled his eyes. He grinned upon feeling Luke catch him from behind just to lean on him. 

“That's just because you can't follow instructions.”

“I'm an artist. There are no instructions for art.”

“Food is an art and straying from the instructions can kill you. We work with dead people, you should know this by now.”

Luke laughed lightly. He lead Evan away from and kitchen and towards the couch. The two sat down in a tangle of limbs.

“You work with dead people. I reconstruct their faces.”

Evan hummed in response. He wiggled about and let his body fall into place along Luke’s. Once he was comfortable he let out a small noise to say so and let his hands toy with Luke’s shirt.

“Got our brakes checked. Got an oil change. The truck’s all good again. The mechanic was this short guy who looked like a balding five year old playing dress up. It was so hard not to make short jokes. I'm kinda glad I went alone. Something tells me that you wouldn't have held back.”

Luke shook his head imagining himself in the situation. Early in the mornings, it was a rarity that he'd be able to keep his opinions to himself. He liked to crack jokes. He was a well known smart ass. Sometimes, he was just an ass. He'd probably would have said nothing other than short jokes till he got asked to leave. He couldn't help it.

“I would have tormented that little guy.”

“See? He's not even here and you're making short jokes.”

Luke chuckled at that. His chest bounced Evan a bit. The younger man quickly grew dizzy and moved so that his head wasn't getting jostled about like a bag of coins attached to someone’s ankles. He watched Luke’s face turn blotchy and pink with laughter. 

“You missed me today didn't you?”

“Hell yeah I missed you. You've been gone for hours and there’s nothing here to keep me occupied. How'd you know?”

Evan carefully peeled himself off of Luke's lap and stretched a bit. His back popped loudly, earning a wince from his beloved. He sighed contently and began to move towards the stairs. With a waggle of his finger, he had Luke off the couch and on his heels in less than a second. A cocky grin toyed at the corners of his lips. 

“You're happier than usual.”

“Is it a crime to be happy?”

“I don't know. I'll ask Tyler,” Evan teased. He bit his lip in just the right way. If he kept up his teasing, there was no saying what kind of trouble the two could get into. 

It was a relief to Evan to see the comforts of his shared room. The blankets were messed, the pillows weren't where they should be. Laundry appeared to have been dumped around their hamper, as if they had used it as a basketball hoop. It was messy but it was his favorite place to be after a long, stressful day. 

Evan had read ten thousand books about how to relax after days such as the one he just had. Baths, teas, beds, blah blah blah! None of it worked. Well, not as well as what Luke did. Luke was magic. His hands knew his back better than the best chiropractors. Luke was better than any yoga classes available. And he loved it.

“You wanna get artsy?”

“I wanna get naked,” Luke informed bluntly. He shut the door and rushed to start removing what little he had on to begin with. Evan grinned at the sight. More clothes tumbled to the floor to add to the mess. He let his eyes run over the exposed skin. While his eyes weren't yet accustomed to the dark, he could still see every last detail and he wanted more of it. Up close. Hopefully coated in a nice layer of sweat, on top of him. Yeah.

He reached out and took ahold of Luke by the hips to guide him back to the bed or maybe even a wall or whatever he hit first. He didn't care at this point. There was no time to care. 

“Hey now, this isn't exactly fair. See, I'm out here in my birthday suit and you've still got everything on.”

“You're a smart man. Fix it.”

Greedy hands ran to obey the given order. Lips clashed against each other. They met a wall before they met a bed. It would have to do. With Evan pinned he was Luke’s to toy with. Luke took a step back once he'd done his job of removing every last article of clothing from his husband.

“I wish you'd let me use you as a model,” he complained before moving to recapture Evan’s lips against his.

“You know I hate holding still.” 

Luke chuckled darkly. He pressed up against Evan and moved his hips ever so slightly. 

“I can't sculpt using only a photo of you.”

“You do that all the time! It's sorta your job,” Evan reminded through a small laugh. He was fully aware of what Luke’s hips were doing and his cheeks were a brilliant shade of pink. 

“I sculpt dead people back to life. I wanna sculpt a living person for once.”

“Get one of the others to pose for you,” Evan scolded. The more Luke talked, the less grinding there was and he needed that friction at the moment. Something Luke apparently was far too conscious of as he stopped entirely to do some teasing of his own.

“Sculpting a friend naked is kinda weird.”

“Do they have to be naked?”

“Have you seen modern sculptures with clothing?”

Evan shook his head. He was tired of conversation. He wanted action. He moved anxiously in Luke's arms to try and convey that message. He was very happy when he got the correct response. 

Luke leaned against him with almost all his weight leaving Evan nowhere to go and no real way to escape. They were both hot and starting to sweat. There was the perfect amount of touching and Evan was beyond pleased with what was unfolding.

“You're beautiful. I want you to see that.”

“Oh, honey, I know I'm beautiful.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” Luke asked, lifting Evan off of his feet. Legs quickly swung about to cling to his hips and keep him uplifted. Evan smiled for an answer and resumed to placing kisses haphazardly about Luke's face and neck.

“Stubborn is just the media’s way of saying confident. You, my love, are the stubborn one between us anyways,” Evan mumbled, slowly growing less interested with the topic at hand. Unless there was some great praise or some juicy insults, he honestly didn't want to hear another word come from Luke’s mouth. 

“I'm not stubborn. I'm picky and get bored easily, that's all.”

“Ah, so you're entitled?”

“I prefer spoiled, but sure,” Luke hummed happily, “hold on to something.” The warning wasn't much good as he wasted no time getting Evan prepared and ready. Neither were very fond of the foreplay. With luck, they could get this part done and over with so that they could get to the fun stuff.

Evan let his head fall back with an obscene moan that had Luke grinning like a cat on the prowel. Only he'd caught his little bird. 

“I want to be spoiled,” Evan whined. 

He caught Luke’s eye and bit his lip and wiggled a bit in his grip. The twitch of Luke’s eyebrow told him that his movements were just what Luke needed to pick up the pace. Luke leaned in and pressed a long kiss to the side of Evan’s jaw. He nipped and teased. Evan giggled at the way the other's beard tickled his neck.

“I'll spoil you all you want, baby. I'll get you everything. I'll take you anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

Evan let out a small gasp as things finally started picking up. He did his best to stay relaxed for Luke who seemed to care less for the brainless babble between them at the moment. He moved slowly so as not to hurt his husband.

“We can start with Greece and work our way around the world,” he went on. His head wasn't connecting meaning behind what he was saying. There was no need. They both knew neither would remember a thing of what was said during sex. Well, most of the time. Luke recalled Evan responding rather well to some choice names that he planned to use later. 

“Greece?” 

“A place I could sculpt and paint and you could relax and we could have moments like this whenever we want. It would be beautiful, baby.”

Evan chuckled. His nails raked across Luke’s exposed back and another moan escaped his lips when Luke gave a small buck. He hoped this topic would drop because things were still going too slow.

“I don't want to go to Greece,” he admit. Luke almost didn't hear him. He was probing about for that one sweet spot that usually got Evan screaming until the neighbors complained. 

“Why not?” At this point he was a robot saying the words he'd been taught to say. He had chatter boxes for friends and half the time he didn't actually give a shit about what they had to say. He had conditioned himself to respond to phrases accordingly.

“Well, I'm happy right here. With the others. With you. Here.”

It snapped then. Luke hit that perfect little bundle of nerves and Evan began to drool all over his shoulder. The words they'd been blindly speaking caught up with him and he was suddenly very far away from his partner. They were connected at the hips at the second, but it felt as if Luke was in another room entirely.

“Are you being serious?”

“Luke, move! I-”

“You don't want to move? Like, at all?”

“No! I said move! What are you talking about-”

Luke had held his lover against the wall. His arms were hooked under his legs to keep him hoisted up. A tempting heat was surrounding him but he wasn't in the right mindset to start lunging into it. 

“You really don't want to go to Greece?”

“Greece is the last thing on my mind right now. If you don't start moving, I will, and I'll end up hurting us both!”

“Why not?”

“What? Luke, this isn't very sexy.” He was growing annoyed now. Normally the small things they said had no meaning. One time they had talked about laundry detergent. Or rather, at that time, it was laundry sauce because Luke hates the word sauce. Said it sounded like someone fucking up the word sass. Evan had used it to tease Luke till Luke forced him to quiet up in the best way possible. He frowned at his husband, upset with the complete lack of action.

“Now isn't the time for this conversation! Now will you please move?”

Luke opened his mouth to respond but was saved by the sudden chime of a cell phone. Evan groaned aloud. A steady flow of curses left his mouth. Luke set him down and the two didn't say a word as Evan hunted down his pants. He pulled his phone free from its cage of pocket and answered. He shot Luke a rather displeased look Luke recognized as “you're sleeping on the couch tonight”. A look he didn't get very often, but often enough to recognize it.

“Dr. Evan Fong. Yeah. Ok, where? Alright, I'll be right there.” He hung up with an exasperated sigh and began to hunt down some fresh clothes. 

“That was Tyler. We got a body at a beach. I gotta get to work. When we get a chance, we’ll talk about this.” He pulled on his cleanest button up shirt and least wrinkled suit bottoms. He passed Luke and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek to show that he wasn't mad, just annoyed. 

“I love you. I'll see you soon,” he called. He snatched up his suit jacket and fled from the house leaving Luke alone waiting for his own phone call in. 

“Saved by the bell,” he grumbled. The day wasn't going well at all. Bad weather, incomplete sex, and now a body on the beach. Great. Exactly what they needed. Good times.


	2. Two

The Coronado beach was usually one filled with laughter and joy. Parents took their children to learn how to swim in the waters just beyond the shore. Gaggles of girls gathered, giddy to get with guys. Men would move from babe to babe trying to collect phone numbers like rare Pokémon. Sand castles were creating empires and civilizations. It looked like a miniature world found only in fairy tales. 

Normally one would find families enjoying a nice breeze or a good barbeque. But if someone were to pass it on that afternoon, they wouldn't see the usual fun and relaxation that they'd expect. Instead, they’d see several trucks, large, dark, and threatening, posted about surrounded by teams of people all wearing either a suit or a blue uniform of sorts. A square mile of the beach was sectioned off with yellow tape. Officers were warning outsiders to keep away and to let the people work.

An old man with a metal detector was sitting inside an ambulance talking rapidly to a man with a clip board. A standard grey blanket was snugly wrapped across his shoulders. The body he'd found was swarming with experts who were eagerly trying to unbury him. 

Tyler met Evan at his car. He lead his partner towards the two others working with the body. They had a majority of it unburied with just a portion of the victim's leg and foot still trapped beneath the sand. 

Flesh was missing in patches. The body’s skull was smashed in, leaking and oozing all over the sand. An eyeball bulged from its socket. Teeth were missing. Skin, in some places, was missing all together. 

Evan rushed to join both Craig and Marcel in the pit and help out as best he could. Craig looked up and offered a welcoming smile at the sight of his two friends. Evan slipped on his gloves before sinking to his knees in the sand with his back to the sun. He poked around at the exposed skull and frowned.

“We have a large portion of the parietal are missing. I can feel multiple fractures to the temporal bone. Maybe we can swab for particulates, maybe find the weapon that caused this?”

“Already done. And-” Craig pulled his tweezers free from the flesh he'd been digging around in triumphantly to show his coworkers his findings “-these larva belong to Calliphoridae, or better known as the blowfly. They're in their second stage of development putting time of death at approximately forty eight to fifty five hours ago.” He placed the little squirming maggots into a container and set them aside in their little tray to take back to the trucks later. "Are we sure this is a murder? There's always that chance that things like this are an accident." Tyler thought back to when he was a small boy. His parents had taken him to a beach and he got badly sunburned. He'd nurtured his dad in the sand up to his neck. Then his mom told him he was going to be a big brother. He was so excited, he almost forgot to unbury his own father. It had been the best beach trip to this day. It would suck to have a memory of the beach as perfect as that one tainted by a murder. "With the injuries sustained, it would be impossible for this to have been an accident."

Tyler peaked over them all to look at the body and frowned at the sight. It wasn't a secret that he had a weak stomach. Maybe that was why he worked in an office sorting through files, filing paperwork, and interrogating suspects instead of picking at dead people. He couldn't understand how people could do such a thing and then be hungry for lunch later. 

“If our guy only died four days max, then where did all of his flesh go?”

“It was ripped off during a beating,” Marcel answered mindlessly. In an instant he had stolen Evan’s attention. He pointed to the large bruises at the edges of the fleshless areas. Craig rushed over the swab for more particulates and grinned at his cotton swabs. He was going to have a field day when they got back to the lab!

“You can be beaten bad enough your skin and-and muscles and all that just comes off?” He was amazed. Perhaps that was a bad word to use as it's often used positively and Tyler wasn't exactly happy or anything near such an emotion. Maybe disgusted, startled, alarmed, or even disturbed would have all been better words to use, but he was amazed nonetheless. 

He couldn't believe someone could do such a thing to another human being. He'd been working in this field for years. He was well aware of the horrific things people will kill for, what people will do to their victims, and what these poor victims went through during, before, and or after death. Still he was always surprised when they encountered something like this. 

He had served for this country. He was honourably discharged and worked his way up to where he was now. He watched men and women, brave and brilliant soldiers, die for this country and its people. He was saddened to think that they gave their lives so that monsters could run about slaughtering people out of selfish rage. 

He hoped that his friends understood. He hoped that the rest of the world understood. He hoped that there was nothing on this planet capable of ripping off the flesh of a man such as it had this one. But the looks he got in return made his heart sink. 

“The mandible is wider indicating our victim was male. Remodeling in the cranium shows he was mid to late thirties,” Evan cut in. Marcel stole a glance to confirm the speculations before getting back to his feet.

“Due to the skull fragments, we’re going to need to bring him and his sandy grave back with us to the Marsh.” Craig and Evan both nodded in agreement. Tyler sighed knowing full well what that meant. He wasn't looking forward to the paper work this entailed and he knew Marcel wasn't looking forward to the expenses. 

“How big of a perimeter are we talking?”

“Three feet at the least. I want to push for five but I doubt fragments got past the three foot mark,” Marcel responded quickly. He snatched up the tray full of evidence and marched back to one of the trucks. 

“Have we found any ID on the guy yet?”

“No. I turned out all his pockets. Found an empty pack of gum, some lint, and an empty lighter but no wallet or drivers license yet,” Craig braked. Tyler nodded and jot down his answer in a small notepad. He looked around the scene and scanned the sand.

“Body dump?”

“I found very little traces of blood other than where the body was found. There should be a trail if he was dragged but there isn't. And if he were murdered here, we’d see much more blood, but there's nothing.”

Marcel returned with an empty tray and moved to shift through the surrounding sand.

“What about the ring? That any help with identifying the victim?”

“Potentially. We'd have to get it back to Brock though. Maybe he can run it through the system and find a jeweler. Right now, I'm thinking dental might be the best way to do this.”

Tyler nodded. His eyes watched the patterns of the birds above them. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see them. Birds, though normally crows and that one with the pidgin creep, liked to feed off of rotting flesh. They were scavengers after all. 

“Think one of these guys took it?”

“Doubtful. It's likely that the killer left his wallet at the murder sight,” Evan chirped before getting to his feet and rushing off without any further explanation. Craig watched the birds for a second and shook his head.

“There doesn't seem to be any signs of those things getting to the body at all. I don't think they can help.”

“Don't sound so disappointed.”

Craig frowned and returned to collecting samples of the sand, figuring he could use it to study the smaller insects he couldn't see with his bald eye. Back at the Marsh, he had an office that was essentially a zoo, or a pavilion rather. He had ferns, herbs, and over fifty different beetles. He was always talking about how important they were and why they couldn't get rid of them. His babies, he called them. The little guys were his babies. And he was always looking for more. A bird would be a lovely addition. 

Tyler hated the mangled corpses they stumbled into. With a passion. They haunted his nightmares and fueled his sleepless nights. He was terrified that one day he'd end up just like them. The only reason why he looked back at the remains was because Craig made a very unusual sound of distress. He watched as a crab, roughly the size of his fist, ran over to torment the scientist before running off with a stolen ring finger. Craig cursed and darted to catch the damned thing. 

And while he was very unhappy that the little bugger had stolen away with evidence, he was thrilled because now maybe he could bring back a Crab. He knew Marcel wouldn't be too happy but who cared? 

Once Marcel and a small handful of other investigators arrived to pick up where Craig left off, Tyler excused himself. Normally Evan would be with them, trying to make out every last injury sustained to the bones that he could see. It was highly unlike him to have disappeared the way he did.

He found his partner helping the crew pack things into the truck. He was mumbling to himself. He paused every other second or so to get an answer from a crew member. Despite this, it was clear that no one was actually listening to him or that he was even talking to anyone at all. He was just thinking aloud and people were too nervous to ignore him altogether. Often that lead to him getting angry, which made Marcel angry. And when Marcel was angry someone got fired and it was never Evan. Fearing for their jobs, the poor crewmen gave small noises for answers and were just happy that Evan accepted them as such. 

Tyler watched his partner babble like a mad man for a second. He exchanged glances with a few of the others. Eventually he couldn't bare to watch Evan slowly give way to his insanity. He stepped in and gently pulled Evan away from his work.

“You alright? You're talking to yourself again. Ohm says that talking to yourself-”

“Who gives a shit what Ohm says? The dude’s crazy. I'm fine.”

Tyler tilted his head to the side. An eyebrow cocked told Evan that he wasn't buying it. Evan shot his own face in return to try and challenge Tyler, maybe make him surrender and drop the topic. However his face began to cramp and he lost. 

“Fine. Luke asked me to go to Greece with him at what I can only describe as the most inopportune moment.”

“Greece?”

Evan groaned and moved to get back to work to help collect the last of the evidence trays and secure hem in the truck beds. Tyler followed behind, careful to keep his distance.

“I don't want to talk about this with you. Now that you're around Ohm more often you're going to try and do that weird shrinky stuff he does and you know that drives me crazy!”

“What? No! It drives me crazy too, I'm just curious-”

“Not now and not here. We have work to do. I think Craig finally got the finger back from the crab. You should go file that form we need to let us take a three foot wide perimeter and approximated three feet deep bedding. I wanna get this done as soon as possible.”

He left Tyler standing alone by the truck and moved to get Craig a small cage for the crab. Tyler watched after his partner and shook his head. Reluctantly he removed his phone from his pocket and got to calling the people he needed for the request. He was glad he didn't have to look at the corpse any more.

Craig was beaming by the time Evan caught up to him. He gently nudged the small crab into its temporary home and handed Evan his findings which consisted of a human ring finger on the right hand and a weathered wallet.

“This little guy had a small collection. Shells, kids toys, and our victim’s wallet. Maybe we've got a way to identify him with out dentals.”

Evan took the wallet and pulled it open. It was drenched in blood. All of the bills inside clung together and were unreadable. He pulled the license from a stack of credit cards and washed the blood away from the name. 

“Adam Montoya.”

Craig looked away from his new crab friend (who he had named Nico by the way) and stared at Evan for a second. 

“Rich guy, good parties, friends with us Adam Montoya?”

Evan smeared the blood away from the picture and handed it over to Craig so that his own eyes could confirm. Craig couldn't believe it. 

“Rich guy, good parties, friends with us Adam Montoya," he confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And our mystery begins!


	3. Three

The Marsh. California is a large state. It's littered with museums and offices and labs. The state people think they can flee to if they wanna be a star. Then they end up bums in the streets begging for money. It really isn't every day you see some big super star drive by. And if you do, you don't actually recognize them. There are hundreds of buildings. There were hundreds of labs. There were hundreds of scientists. But there was nothing quite like the Marsh.

In the state of California, if you wanted to be a scientist, if you wanted the best scientific jobs available to you, you wanted a job at the Marsh. It was more of a hospital than anything else. It was giant. Our scientists had easy access to whatever tools their little hearts desired if they could find it in another section of the building. That could often be a challenge as it was larger than most college campuses. 

The forensics lab was something to be proud of. Located in the basement of the east wing, surrounded by rooms and rooms of remains recovered, their cases unsolved, sat rows of examining tables. Forensic anthropologists ran about like ants in a hive minded colony. White gloves, metal tools, computer systems all lined for easy sharing, microscopes connected to screens for bigger and better detail viewing. Impossible to break into from the outside. Impossible to leave without signing out. If you wanted to be anywhere in the Marsh, it was in that lab.

Evan ran his ID card through. The small chirp alerted others to his arrival. He marched up the steps and stared at the tank of sand holding the remains of their friend atop a table that looked far too small for it. Jonathan was already separating one from sand. Trays of said one were set off to the side. Craig was doing his best to separate and from flesh for Marcel. A relatively young boy, not yet man, hovered over the trays and was writing away in a three ring binder roughly the size of a small child.

They all turned to greet their boss and start their reports. Evan looked into the sand and was glad to see that most of the one had been recovered. This meant that once they found the skull fragments they could get the stupid box out of there. He donned his gloves and moved to see the bones that had been recovered.

He stopped and frowned at the young stranger in his presence. He turned to Jonathan expectantly. He wasn't in the mood for people being where they shouldn't be.

“Who is this?”

“This is Smitty. He is your new intern so play nice,” Marcel answered before Jonathan could even open his mouth. 

Evan was a stickler for answers, though not as bad as Jonathan. He didn't like guessing or assumptions. He loved straightforward answers. In his opinion, people didn't give enough of those. Everyone was always judging a question or asking more. He hated it. And yet, somehow he found himself hating this answer the most. He turned back to the new intern with great disdain. 

“This...child...meets the requirements? I find that hard to believe.”

Smitty looked up from the binder alarmed and offended. He glanced nervously back to Craig. The entomologist was struggling to hold back his chuckles. His face was a bright red and he had to turn away so as not to get into trouble. This of course didn't ease Smitty’s worries one bit. He'd only been in the lab for maybe ten minutes and he was already being fired?

Marcel shot Evan a sharp glare. He removed one of the trays of flesh and stood his ground. 

“Yes, in fact he does. He graduated early and with high honors. He's already done substantial work. I hand picked him myself. I offered him this job. So, Dr. Fong, I will repeat myself, as I find I often must with you; play nice.”

He turned and promptly left. Evan glared after him. He had several words held prisoner at the tip of his tongue that every little firing neuron was screaming at him to shout but some part of himself that he didn't exactly understand managed to hold it all back. It was a struggle to unclench his fists. He hated not being in control of things. Things went his way. That's how they'd always been. He turned, albeit begrudgingly, towards his new intern. A quick, mocking fake smile shattered his angry face and he promptly set himself to work.

“We’ll need the bones cleaned if we’re going to be able to get any good information. Smitty, how long will you make me wait on that?”

“I still have to finish cataloging the injuries with flesh-”

“How long have you been at that, exactly?”

Craig wanted to keep working. Really he did. But some tiny little voice in the back of his head was telling him that he didn't want to miss what was about to happen next. Evan was a drama queen if he ever met one. He'd probably rip Smitty limb from limb. Hell, in a few seconds, he could be suddenly tasked with solving the verbal murder of a young Mr. Lucas Smitherson.

“Uh, almost a half an hour, sir.”

“What is taking you so long? I want a reason, not an excuse.”

Craig set down his tools and moved to put himself between the doctor and the intern before there was fresh blood instead of corpse blood. Smitty looked about nervously. He wasn't sure if this was a trick question or a warning. Scared of being wrong, he returned to cataloging his findings and hoping that he'd picked the right answer. Though he had a sinking suspicion that Evan wouldn't have been appt with anything he could have said or done in that moment. 

Craig easily redirected Evan’s attention to what little bone had been exposed in the hopes that this would be enough to satisfy Evan for the time being.

“I've swabbed these areas and I'm currently running them through the scanner. Thus far I've found traces of aluminum. With that I found DEAE-Sephadex, hydroxylapatite chromatography, and glycerol.”

Both Evan and Smitty stared at him in an inpatient waiting game for him to repeat his findings but in simpler forms this time. Craig sighed heavily. There were days he wished everyone else was as crazy about his job as he was. 

“Chicken breast. From the particulates found, store bought and handled.”

“So our victim...I’m sorry, Adam... was beaten to death with dinner?” Jonathan asked. Craig nodded readily. He turned to get Evan’s approval. He caught Evan's glare and slowly turned back to Jonathan now shaking his head with the best serious face he could pull. 

Evan was done with jokes. The find was great. That could very well link them to a murder weapon. Death by chicken sounded highly unlikely. He turned to Jonathan expectantly.

“Is the skull done yet, Del?”

“A few more fragments and I should have this baby looking like abnormal human skull again,” he called back proudly. 

Evan smiled upon hearing that. He'd be able to work with something at least. While Craig meant well, seeing only a part of exposed bone was like reading one sentence out of a book and pretending to know it's plot. The sentence could be very simple and yet convey a deeper meaning amongst others than when it's on its own. The sentence “that's it” holds great meaning, and yet, none at all when alone. But Craig couinent possibly understand that. Not in the same way Evan did. 

He was pulled away from wanting to nag at his new intern when his phone rang off once more. He quickly moved to get rid of his gloves before answering.

He listened to the other end without saying much of anything. He hummed every now and again but that was as talkative as he got. Finally, after a minute or two, he hung up and threw his head back in annoyed defeat.

“Tyler and I have to go check out Montoya’s manner. Jonathan, I assume you'll be done with the skull when I return?” Jonathan nodded enthusiastically. Evan smiled at the silent answer. 

“And...Smitty. I expect that you'll have long moved on or else I'll be firing you.”

The boy looked up anxiously. He exchanged a glance with Craig before giving a hesitant nod. Evan walked off, running his ID card through the feeder and like that he was gone just as he came. 

Craig looked up from his sand box, “Don't worry kid. Last intern he didn't like he bit of their finger tips. I think you're doing pretty ok. For now.”

The blood drained from Smitty’s face. He liked his fingers. They did these great things like hold objects like frenchfries and bring them to his mouth. He loved his fingers! He was beginning to wonder if taking this job offer was the best idea. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he should have waited a year or two after college before hunkering down with a job somewhere. What was he thinking? If only he was old enough to drink!

He stared at the set of uncleaned remains before him and frowned. Adam. Why did that name sound so familiar?

“So Adam doesn't have any immediate family we can contact. We have no real leads on this case, I figured the best lead we have would be the dead guy’s house.”

“That “dead guy” was a friend, Tyler. A very good friend,” Evan grumbled as he climbed out of the truck. He was eager to get inside and avoid Tyler. His partner caught him by the arm. He had something to say and he'd be damned if he'd let Evan ignore him again. 

“Yeah. I know. But I've found it helps to imagine that this wasn't Adam. If I don't, revenge will cloud my better judgment. I wanna get the fucker who did this. I can't if I'm running around in a blind rage. So until we have something to go off of, some name, Adam is a dead guy. Just like every other case before him.”

Evan pulled his arm away. He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell Tyler that he was being selfish and stupid to be thinking that way. He blamed Ohm for this one. The damned shrink had gotten to his partner. And while his anger was bubbling and boiling, not a word of it fell from him. Because he knew the regardless of his currently unstable emotional state, Adam was important to them both. They were both angry. They both wanted justice. The both wanted Adam to be laid to rest knowing his murderer had been caught. And they both needed to keep a clear mind to do so. 

He gave Tyler and understanding nod. The two moved to start investigating the manner.

Montoya Manner was something all millionaires dreamed their houses could look. The place had twenty bedrooms and fifteen bathrooms. Statues, fountains, about seven cars in the driveway, and a large pool in the back yard complete with a hot tub to the side. Retailers liked it because it brought up the value of all neighboring homes around it, which was great because Adam liked to gloat. He'd built his manner in the heart of a neighborhood that really wasn't faring too well in that department. 

Evan had spent plenty of his nights in one of those twenty rooms. It had been in Adam’s pool that he and Luke had made the mistake of one too many drinks that lead to a rather embarrassing love confession both wanted to forget that lead to ruining Adam’s sheets. 

Tyler had been the bartender for many of Adam’s parties. Every fourth, he'd been the one who set up the fireworks in the back yard. His kid sister would wait for him excitedly by the pool with her hands over her ears and eyes glued to the sky. If it hadn't been for Adam, he never would have survived the small financial depression he went through after his parents died.

They didn't bother to knock. The man didn't have a maid or help around the house like everyone thought he should. He did at one point but he had a very bad habit of not paying people what they were owed. Eventually all of his house help took off in the hunt for better jobs. Adam had been alone in his monster of a home for nearly six months. 

Both Tyler and Evan expected to see the manner in its usual shine and glory. Adam spent most of his time alone. He was a very tidy man. They were expecting the house to have the glow that just seemed part of the house. They expected to see some football game on the big tv mounted above the dramatic fireplace. They expected to see Adam’s many, many, many pictures of his two cats plastered about the walls. Stepping inside, they expected to see what they could easily call home.

They found nothing of the sort. The walls were missing their pictures. Glass was scattered about in pieces on the carpet. The tv was missing from its mounts. The large sofa Adam had replaced about seventeen times within the last month was on its side. Leather was ripped open exposing springs and stuffing. Bullets riddled the walls. Blood was smeared in small patches, as if someone had been using the wall to support themselves. 

The two ran to follow the bullet trail through the halls. Every window they passed was busted out. Their curtains were ripped to shreds. 

They followed the trail of blood and bullet holes to a room facing where they could only assume the direction the gunman was firing at them from. The door hung from its bottom hinge. The pool table was on its side and resembled that of Swiss cheese. The windows here, too, were shot out. The walls were nothing but holes. Bullets lay like lawn clippings after mowing. And two bodies lay still in the middle of it all. The smell was revolting. It assaulted the noses of the two who stared on in absolute horror.

Tyler rushed to call in for backup and another team. Help arrived within minutes. Sirens wailed the way a spoiled child does when they get told no. Neighbor's looked on from the safety of their windows. Agents and investigators walked about struggling to collect as many bullets as they possibly could. The blood on the walls was being tested to see if the DNA was a match for Montoya or his assailant. 

Tyler stared at the two bodies they'd discovered. Their faces were burned into his eyes. He knew these two just as he knew Adam. They were young, goofy, and good friends. They didn't deserve to die, he knew that much. Steven and Anthony. 

It tore his heart apart to see them both get placed inside a dull body bag each and carted away like they were nothing. They'd both been something before. They'd both been these assholes you never knew you could trust during a game of poker. These two flirts you couldn't tell if they were dating or not. These two idiots who lived to entertain others. They'd been reduced down to nothing. They'd get sent back to the Marsh where their bones would be stripped of all flesh and they'd be examined as if nothing more than bugs. 

He left the military because he was tired of watching friends die. So why did they keep dying? He felt more helpless than ever. He greatly admired Evan’s strength to keep a calm composure about himself and direct orders as he always did.

He wasn't a heartless man. Evan knew Anthony and Steven just as Tyler did, simply not in the same way. While friends, they weren't as close as they could have been. Maybe that had been the o it reason why Evan want as destroyed over the sight as Tyler was. Maybe his understanding of the three’s relationship was what let him leave Tyler in one of the many available rooms to “search for leads or other bodies” utterly alone. 

And while he wasn't heartless, he still had a job to do and a role to fill. He was still hunting down a murderer. He had to keep a clear head else he'd never find the monster who did this and arrest them. 

He moved from room to room hoping to find something useful. As far as he could tell, the bottom rooms were the only ones touched. There was nothing else. No sign of a forced entry, no fight, no struggle. It was Adam’s struggle to keep himself alive. 

Tyler fought hard to keep himself together. He wasn't one to cry. He'd been trained not to. His father had taught him that boys don't cry. Boys are strong and brave and aren't sad or scared. When upset, a man doesn't turn to a friend or a spouse and talk. They don't go to some shrink. They ball everything up and drink it all away. Or they hit things. And if he were to be honest with himself, he really wanted to start hitting things. But if he did, he could compromise evidence. 

He collapsed on an offered bed. And stared up at the ceiling. The sun hit his eyes and blinded him. Annoyed, he moved to close the windows and leave himself in darkness like he wanted. Upon getting up and looking outside he spotted the gates. The cameras. Adam had security cameras around the perimeter of his house. They had to have got something on the guy who did this. 

He rushed to assist in hunting down and gathering every last camera and contacting the man who installed them. A man named Max, as the engraving in the plastic casing told them. 

Tyler hated cameras. When he was a kid, his neighbor once told him that they could steal the souls of bad little boys who steal more than one candy on Halloween from the “take one please” candy bowls. And he was without a doubt one of those bad boys. As an adult, he figured his fear was irrational. But as the small four year old he had been at the time, cameras were terrifying. He loved his soul. Despite this, he had never been more happy to see such a wonderful invention before in his life. 

With luck and some effort, these wretched soul stealers could put the son of a bitch who murdered three of his friends away in jail for the rest of their miserable life. 

 

He'd make sure of that.


	4. Four

Brock stared at the stack of computers he had to sort through. He glared at the never ending supply of cameras. Never before in his life did he hate his job more. Normally when they asked him to sort through files and video feeds, they meant maybe from a phone or a laptop. This? This was insane. For a second he forgot that Adam was this millionaire who liked to shop. 

There was no possible way he'd be able to go through both the computers and phones while watching the recordings from the security cameras. His software wouldn't be able to handle that amount of work either. 

He felt like he'd been on a lovely cruise and out of nowhere the captain just pushed him over a railing and stranded him in a sea of shit he had to do. And to think that only an hour ago he'd been in his backyard playing with the dogs. 

Smitty knocked gently on Brock’s door. Brock mindlessly invited him in without bothering to see who it was first. He figured it was Marcel asking for an update or to give some more orders. Maybe it was Craig who'd found some weird bacteria and just happened to have no one else to talk to about it. He turned to face them with his best “I’m totally listening” face he could muster. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed to see Smitty standing in his office looking as lost as ever.

“Marcel told me to come assist you?”

Happy days, oh happy days! Brock wasn't exactly a fan of interns. They were inexperienced, did more damage than anything else, talked too much, and couldn't focus on their work. But this intern? Now he was a keeper. For now. Brock smiled and pointed to the collection of cameras.

“I need you to watch the feeds of those around time of death and let me know if you see anything. Think you can handle that?”

“If I can't, are you going to bite off my fingers?”

Brock suppressed a laugh. Holding it back hurt his chest. Usually when people responded with a question such as that one, they do so in a joking fashion. This kid was completely serious.

“Did Craig tell you about the last intern?” Smitty nodded. The poor thing. He was lost and scared. Like a puppy. He decided that this one was cute and probably too scared to fuck up. Definitely a keeper. He'd put in a good word later. But for now he wanted to have a little fun.

“Did he tell you that it's the intern’s job to refill the water fountains?”

“No…?”

“Well, it is. And I think they're running out so you better go do that as soon as you can. Evan hates it when the water fountains are empty.”

Smitty nodded hesitantly. He slowly moved to take the cameras and relocate. Brock watched after him and felt alive once again. His workload lightened and he got to have some fun with the new kid. What more could he have asked for? 

Craig walked in to see Brock’s face still pinned up with a dorky smile. He glanced back at the fleeing Smitty and quickly put two and two together.

“What did you tell him?”

“That he had to refill the water fountains.”

Craig shook his head with a chuckle. Ah interns. They're so obsessed with bone matter and dead things that they never stop to ask themselves if water fountains actually need to be refilled. They're connected to the piping system, like sinks and toilets. Those don't need to be refilled. But interns are so scared of getting fired that they'll do anything asked of them.

“You gonna ask him for the ten pound marshmallows next?”

“Found only in the basement of the 7-Eleven across the street. Ask the manager for a code Blue and he'll know what to do.”

The two felt like they were back in high school plotting senior prank again. Fish in the air ducts. This new intern was going to go through hell and back with the false threat of his job (and fingers) on the line. 

And as much as they'd like to stand there and swap ideas and decide on what other tasks to make the kid do, they had work to do. Three friends had been murdered and now wasn't the time to dilly dally. Craig seemed to remember that little fact first as he cleared his throat and directed Brock’s attention to his findings.

“So the bullets found in Adam’s house belong to a tommy gun. Our gunman fired every last bullet in his clip into the house. We have all thirty bullets. Five came from Anthony’s remains, seven from Steven. One we found lodged in a wall covered in Adam’s blood. When I looked closer I found a bone fragment. I'll have Evan check that out.”

Brock listened carefully. He tried to picture the scene in his head. From the pictures he'd seen, the gunman shot from a localized point closer to the front door of the house and just sprayed it down. He had to have been near a window as most of the spray was also localized and not a single bullet was found outside the house. He pressed his lips together in a frown and sat down to sketch what he was seeing.

“So, Adam had Chilled and Ze over for a game of pool. Our gunman open fires through the window. Down goes Chilled and Ze. Adam gets away. Adam should have left a trail. He was clearly hit, but not fatally. His skeletal remains should show us where. You may have found cause of death, Dr. Thompson. I'll tell Tyler.”

“I'll tell Evan. Oh! We should make him sweep the parking lot!”

“Evan?”

“No! Smitty.”

Brock nodded and Craig fled from the room. Both rushed to send out the gathered information.

Phones continued to ring and every once in a while an agent would answer and there'd be a small murmur always afloat. 

Tyler once believed that the FBI wasn't this office like building filled with people doing never ending paperwork. 

He thought it was this secret headquarters thing. There'd be a boss who sits with his face obscured to keep his identity safe. He'd be petting a cat. For some reason he'd only have three fingers on his left hand. Rumors would run amuck around what happened to the missing fingers. And every speculation would be wrong. Only the boss would know. And the boss would have this partner who was hot and smart. She would always carry a gun and was the sharpest shooter known to man. And for some reason she would always be chewing on some bubble gum, but it wouldn't be normal gum. It would be spy gum. And when she got into trouble, she could use her spy gun to get herself out of it. The agents were bad ass cops who shot first and asked questions later. Buff, manly, and heroic!

This? This was pitiful compared to his childish imaginings. There was no three fingered boss man who hid his face. There was his boss, who had all five fingers and was always in the news. The agents weren't that buff, manly, or heroic. Many of them were much like himself. They had an office and a stack of paperwork capable of slaughtering an elephant if dropped on it. There was no secret conspiracy or spy gum. And while Evan was hot, he wasn't Tyler’s type. Besides, Evan had Luke and they were a sturdy couple as far as he could tell. 

Now, there was a man who he thought was hot and just might actually have spy gum. A man he didn't exactly consider his partner, at least not out in the field, but in the office investigations. A doctor, but not a medical one. 

Dr. Ohm was a psychologist. He'd been assigned to the bureau as a trauma counselor for the field agents. But that had been years ago and he had made a steady and silent climb to his current position. He was no longer just a councilor. Now he too was smothered with paperwork. It was up to him to profile people. It was his job to look for a motive, to read a suspect’s face to see the truth, and to help give a more defined look into the victim’s life that lead to their being killed. 

See, Ohm was sneaky. That was his job. Evan examined the bones of the victim's to see injuries flesh can’t always show. A healed scar could leave a bruise on the bone. Evan could identify when and how the bruise got there. That was his job. 

Marcel shifted through stomach and liver contents to get a general sense of the victim’s last day on earth. He could tell if they’d been poisoned, what they last ate, and their health before and sometimes even after death. As well as the fact that Marcel was in charge of signing off requests for equipment, in charge of hiring and firing interns, and in charge of hiring and firing the rest of his staff. He was the boss of the Marsh, that was his job.

Ohm’s job was to focus on the smallest of details most don't have the attention span to notice. Small twitches in facial features could indicate that someone is lying. Prolonged shock could indicate that someone is hiding something. Anger was often not always strong enough to lead to drastic measures such as murder. His job was to listen for verbal patterns, vocabularical choices, and situational emotions. Evan worked with skulls. Ohm worked with minds.

The FBI liked that. He was the best in his field. Perhaps that was why he was stuck waking up at the ass crack of dawn to read through his friend’s emails, text messages, and asked to report on anyone angry enough to kill him. 

He got to his office and was startled to find over sixty files to analyze. Brock had dug up Adam’s phone and computer history and sent it to Ohm as quickly as he could. There was a lot. It didn't exactly take him long, which was more startling than the work load. 

Tyler, unmistakably, loved Ohm. Or he was convinced he loved Ohm. He wasn't convinced that he was loved back. Seeing Ohm was like seeing a loved one who only saw you as a stranger. It hurt. Nevertheless, when Ohm knocked on his office door before seeing himself inside, Tyler’s little heart skipped a couple of beats and a stupid smile caught his lips captive. Something that always only ever happened around Ohm, he noticed. And he was certain that Ohm had noticed too, but chose not to care.

Ohm handed over his findings with an excited smirk and took a seat. Tyler took up the small file and began to read through the highlighted texts. 

“I love Adam. He's a blast to be around. And I know it's wrong to speak ill of the dead, especially when they're a good friend. But you and I both know Adam didn't like to share. Even when he was legally supposed to.”

“He owed a lot of money to a lot of people, Ryan, this is nothing new.”

Ohm pulled the documents from Tyler’s hands and flipped to the page he'd been so eager to share. Tyler stared down at the mile long list of threats and hate that filled the page.

“You do remember how Adam didn't pay any of his staff and that's why he doesn't have any house aid, right? Adam didn't just owe people money.”

Tyler leaned back in his chair. The old thing let out a cry of pain in protest. Something it did more and more often as of late. Tyler read through each threat and frowned before handing the documents back disappointed.

“So? He got threats like that all the time. He had lawsuits filed against him all the time for this, he dealt with things legally. You're not bringing me anything-”

“Adam liked to collect guns, right? I mean he owned a shooting range, he liked to keep it fully equipped with toys.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Guns aren't toys,” Tyler lectured. He felt like he was back at home yelling at his little sister. Ohm rolled his eyes.

“To Adam, they were. He used them for fun, not for defence just like a vast majority of this country. And besides-! The Walmart right besides my house sells the guns right next to the toy aisle. It goes from legos, to barbies, to hunting rifles.” Tyler cocked an eyebrow and Ohm backed off the topic. He pointed to the person Adam had been messaging, determined to get back to work with out any more trouble.

“Adam had to buy the guns from someone. He could have bought rifles or hand gun, but Adam was after machine guns. The guy he’s arguing with here is Tom Syndicate.”

Tyler’s computer screen lit up with an email from the Marsh. He let Ohm babble on and opened the file to read through it. 

“Tom was selling Adam fifteen tommy guns for his shooting range. The deal was that Adam paid half upfront and when he got the guns he'd pay the rest of it. Not only did Adam not pay up the rest of it, he also paid the upfront fee with counterfeit bills. He didn't pay for any of it. That made Tom pretty angry, death threats angry, but no legal action angry because this entire deal was illegal. See what I'm getting at?” 

Tyler nodded though he'd quit listening half way through Ohm’s little speech. He didn't understand why Ohm couldn't just summarize things like everybody else. He adored the man, but good god.

“Good, cause as of right now, he's our biggest suspect.”

“Who is?”

“Tom Syndicate. I'm sorry, but we're you not listening to a thing I just said?”

Tyler got to his feet and pulled his jacket from off his seat and struggled to put it on. Ohm leaned back with his arms crossed. 

“Of course I did! I heard every word. So why is Tom our biggest suspect?”

Ohm turned a faint shade of red. This always happened. He'd tell someone something and they ignore him. He wondered if this job was worth it. He missed when he could sit down and help agents with their trauma. They at least scheduled appointments and listened to him. 

“He made an illegal gun sale with Adam and got ripped off. By at least sixty thousand dollars,” he repeated with a huff. 

Tyler smiled. He walked past Ohm taking the time to ruffle up his hair. 

“See? That wasn't so hard now was it? You couldn't have just told me that from the beginning?”

“Word count.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Hey, where are you going? I still have more suspects!”

Ohm leapt from his seat and rushed to follow Tyler. Agents greeted the giant warmly. The way a shy fan would greet their star. Tyler mumbled small greetings back and slipped away into the elevator. Ohm was right on his heels.

“The geeks just told me that they identified the bullets as Tommy gun ammo. Only they said it far more specific and detailed and it took them like ten paragraphs. So I’m going to go arrest this man and charge him with murder. Any more questions, Mr. Psyc?”

Ohm was quiet. Tyler smiled. The elevator doors opened and he stepped out leaving Ohm alone. The doors closed and Ohm just stood there a second.

“It'a Dr. Psyc. Doctor, not-” he sighed with a shake of his head. Part of him wondered why he found himself falling for that man. 

He returned to his office and sat down with the documents he'd read through time and time again. He was angry that Tyler hadn't taken the time to see what had caught his attention. It was right in front of him on the first page. If Tyler wouldn't listen, maybe Marcel would. Reluctantly he picked up the phone.

“Ohm, this better be good because I am knee deep with this and-”

“I have some...not very good news.”

“First off, rude. Don't ever interrupt me again. Secondly, why don't you tell Tyler? And thirdly, what bad news?”

Marcel was silent as Ohm rattled off a small list of his findings followed by several exchanges. Every word was laced with hate and malice. A fight. A warning. A threat. A promise. A time and a place.

“So, Adam and this guy fight over Adam’s disrespect and failure to own up to his actions and pay the people he owes?”

“The suspect clearly shows concern and care for Adam. He wanted Adam to do the right thing and was mad when Adam refused.”

“So what set him over the edge?”

Ohm flipped through his papers and ran the messages back again through his brain. He found the warning and the message before it.

“Uh-here. The last straw was about the tommy gun exchange. Apparently this suspect was close friends with Tom Syndicate who'd recently been cheated out of a large sum of money.”

Marcel nodded. He glanced up from his work in time to see Smitty carry a large bucket to one of the staff’s water fountains and empty it. Craig and Brock were giggling like idiots not too far off. This was why he hated getting new interns. Always with the jokes. And threats of finger biting. He turned his attention away from the scene.

“You've identified two possible suspects, Tyler is already off to get one of them. This all sounds good. You said you have bad news.”

“The first suspect is Tom Syndicate. The second. Well. He’s a friend.”

Marcel went rigid. This case already had too many friends involved. He lost three, he didn't want to lose a fourth because they had a temper. He watched the three once more and hoped to God it wasn't one of them. 

“Who?”

“Brian.”

Marcel thanked Ohm after a moment. He hung up and sat back in his chair shocked. Angry. Nothing was going right. This mess was not how he wanted his day to go. Too many were wrapped up in this, too many friends. When he first got the job, this was never what he thought he'd be doing. He knew he'd be dealing with murder cases and suicides. He knew he'd see hundreds of bodies in his lab. He never thought that those bodies would be his friends. He knew that his friends would work their asses off to catch the murderers and bring justice to the world. He never thought they'd be suspected of committing such murders. Shit. How was he supposed to tell the others? How was he supposed to tell Craig?


	5. Five

Evan was a calm man for the most part. It took a lot to make him genuinely upset about something. He wasn’t the type to talk about it either. He, like many others, had a bad habit of taking each and every negative thing that he happened upon and stacking it on top of the last one. 

This far, in a single day, he'd stacked up twice as much as he had in two months. He didn't know Anthony and Steven as well as some of his coworkers. At parties, he'd catch the two teasing each other. They were the definition of friendship. He hated seeing them because every time he did he'd be left with jealousy and self pity. They were this pure thing so few could achieve. He knew it was silly, but he felt that their deaths were a warning or a lesson he had to learn. 

Nothing pure in this world ever lasts. Nothing in this world is pure. Life doesn't last forever. Everyone around him was painfully mortal. 

Science had come all this way to prolong the inevitable. In the eighteen hundreds, it was near impossible to live to see sixty. Now, there were people living up to over a hundred. Modern medicine was evolving. It felt like the childish dream of immortality was becoming more of a reality. 

This was a wake up call to just how far away from that hopeful future humanity actually was. Adam was young and healthy. They'd seen each other only a little over a week ago. Adam had been happy and excited and was laughing like he always was. In that moment, everything felt as if nothing would change. Evan went home that night a firm believer that he'd see Adam for years to come. 

It terrified him. He'd relied on science for a vast majority of his life. He'd built everything around it. It was his job, he past, his future, his now. It drove him from day to day. It was so readily available and accessible. But it could only do so much. 

There'd been a case about a year ago that had a similar story to tell. They'd run into a murderer who wasn't afraid of the consequences of his actions. He didn't fear death. He'd shot Tyler square in the chest. Evan had knelt besides his partner in a panic. His hands had been pressed hard on the wound to try and keep the bleeding to a minimum. He watched the life drain away from Tyler’s face. The ambulance almost didn't make it in time.

He was in a frenzy of emotions that entire ride. Evan was religious. He wasn't a die hard follower. He didn't have a strict practice. He simply knew that there was something out there, something bigger than anything on earth. There was a god, cruel and kind in his ways. Evan didn't believe that this god had a distinctive plan like everyone else said he did. He believed that god had lessons to teach, and it was mankind’s free will to take it or leave it. 

That day, in the back of the ambulance besides his partner, when the heart minister let out this terrible shriek. When the two doctors raced like horses to revive him. When Tyler died. He didn't believe in god. At least not in that moment. 

He stared at his partner in shock and pain. He'd worked with this man for years. He'd had no other partner. He knew no one better. He trusted no one else in the field. Tyler was his best friend. He was the best man at his wedding. He'd been the one who told Evan to grow a pair and ask Luke out. He'd been by his side in the toughest of times and he'd been there during the best. He couldn't imagine himself continuing his field of work without the man. 

The machine kept its beep long and loud. It rang in his ears. It echoed in his dreams every now and again. And the doctors pulled a miracle. Tyler was revived. And Evan believed in god once more. He hated him, but he believed. 

That had been his first warning. People were mortal. They were temporary. No one lived forever. When Tyler had awoken from his coma, he joked that he would live forever or die trying and this was just proof. And Evan had laughed off the incident a best as he could. 

He thought he'd learned his lesson. He thought he'd heard it loud and clear. It baffled him to think that he'd missed it enough for god to take three other people. Adam was an asshole. He was greedy and selfish. But he didn't deserve to die. Anthony and Steven had been background noise to his memories. But they had friends and family who loved them dearly. They didn't deserve to die. No one did. 

He'd been studying the bruises along Adam’s ribs when Tyler had called him. They were originally supposed to find a Tom Syndicate, but Ohm had found another liable suspect that suddenly took up all the spotlight. 

There was a strange sense of urgency about the drive there. Tyler was bitter, rendering him completely silent. Evan had been left in silence to wonder what lesson it was that he just wasn't learning for more to be stacked upon him like this. He was carrying a mountain on his shoulders. The case was already too close to home. It already hurt too much knowing he'd lost Adam. It broke him to learn that Brian was the suspect they needed to bring in.

He hoped to God that Ohm got this one wrong. He was praying the entire way from the Marsh to Brian’s apartment that Brian was innocent. He wanted the killer to out themselves and then they wouldn't have to question Brian. 

He wanted nothing more for Brian to be declared innocent. But deep down, he knew his friend to hold quite the explosive temper. It hurt to admit, but there was that small chance that Brian wasn't as good hearted as they were lead to believe. People can be so unpredictable. It made him question all of his friends. And he hated it. He hated how easily his world could change. He hated change. Especially big change such as this whole mess.

“I wish we had more evidence than just some text messages and Ohm’s suggestion,” he bitched upon getting out of the car. Tyler groaned in agreement. 

“I don't. I'm scared that we’ll find more evidence pointing to Brian and I want his name cleared as quickly as possible. So let's just ask him a few questions and leave it at that.”

“You think he did it?” 

Evan stopped and stared after Tyler. He felt like his entire perception of the world was being torn apart and flipped upside down. Nothing was as it was suppose to be. Friends were dying. Other friends were killing. Closer friends were uncertain of the truth and they didn't want to learn it. Luke wanted to move.

Tyler hesitated with an answer. Evan was delicate with these things. He was the type to never forgive and never forget. Every word he'd say would be remembered. He approached an answer with great caution.

“At this second, we can't be sure.”

“That's not an answer.”

“Can we please just get this done?”

“Do you think he killed Adam, Steven, and Anthony?”

Tyler glanced anxiously towards the small apartment building where the geeks insisted hid Brian away. He wanted to ignore Evan and go inside and continue on with this case. But Evan was persistent and determined. Of the four previous partners he'd been assigned, none were like that. This was what made Evan what he was, the key to his gift and talent. He didn't quit when things got difficult. He prefers answers, facts, and the truth. Tyler couldn't lie to him, he'd know. He somehow always knew. 

“I don't know. I don't want to think that he did. But that's because he's my friend and it's hard to believe anyone you love could be capable of such an act. But from a professional standpoint, we’ve arrested with less.”

Evan was void of any and all expressions. He was the type of man to keep his thoughts and emotions to himself, after all. He liked to linger on them and figure them out on his own. It was part of the reason why he hated Ohm so much. Why he hated the fact that Tyler was most definitely in love with the “doctor”. Ohm could speed up the process of complete it in less than a second. Tyler was bound to pick up a few tricks. Evan didn't want either of them getting inside his head and figuring him out before he even got a chance to do so on his own. That was what Luke was for. So he tucked Tyler’s answer away in the back of his head to reflect upon at a more appropriate time and dropped the subject. With a nod, the two returned their attention to the apartment. 

It wasn't anything big or fancy. It was the type of apartment complex that struggling college students would rent in teams of three just to get by. It was falling apart, rusted, moldy, and bricks were missing by the clumps. The front door was busted and repaired with duct tape. No one came to escort them inside. No one was seemingly there at all. It was as if the place had been entirely abandoned.

Normally, when walking down the halls of any building housing many people, you could hear a whisper of their lives humming through the thin walls. And the walls here appeared to be corroding away to the point that the smallest of sounds should be heard. But there was nothing. Only silence. Nothing moved. No one spoke. Nothing. 

The sort of stillness one could only find in action. Tyler had heard this stillness. Evan heard nothing but the floorboards creaking beneath them. Tyler? He heard everything. He'd been trained to. He didn't hear the floorboards. He heard a mother hushing her infamant back to sleep. He heard the comforted sigh of a man who'd recently gotten off from work. He heard the wince of a man suffering from a hangover. He heard the sniffle of a girl getting over a breakup. He heard the uneven breathing of a teen too stressed to function properly. He heard the huff of a woman who'd finally finished with her taxes. He heard the gasp of a child who just remembered it was his brother’s birthday. He heard everything. And it was a relief to know that these sounds were civilian and human. Not enemy. In a strange sense, it was all welcoming. It saddend him to know that Evan couldn't hear what he did. He couldn't hear these people’s lives.

He hated himself for disrupting the peace that held this entire building mute. He brought his knuckles to the door and knocked gently. The hollow sound was thunderous in the stillness. His heart beat rivaled it. He could hear it pacing back and forth in his chest. He wondered if everyone else could hear it too. 

He heard the groggy rising of the man inside. Socked feet slightly stumbling across old carpet. A grunt of exhaustion. A chain rustled and the door opened. Brian peaked out through squinted eyes unaccustomed to the hall’s lighting. He looked over the two faces before him and a warm smile washed away all signs of tiredness that may have existed only seconds prior. He pulled the door completely open and happily welcomed his friends in.

“Hey! Come on in, sorry about the mess, I’m still getting settled and I've been a bit slow.” 

Tyler and Evan exchanged a glance and made no hint of movement. Brian walked off towards his small kitchen to fix up a cup of coffee and see what all he had to offer his friends in his fridge. 

“I don't have much. You guys want some cold pizza? It's not Hawaiian I promise-”

“Brian, we need to talk,” Tyler interrupted. He took a hesitant step towards his friend. The man stepped away from his fridge with an embarrassed grin and a small plate of pizza in his hand. 

“Sure man. It’s been a while. How've things been? Evan, how's Luke? You guys finally decide on a house or are you two still arguing?”

“No, we didn't come here to...” Tyler tried to gently drive the conversation away from friendly territory. If he didn't, he wouldn't have the heart to ask what he came to ask. The truth would never be known. And if Brian was the murderer, he'd walk away. Tyler loved Brian. They were good friends. But he couldn't let a murderer walk away. Not again.

“And you, big guy. You still head over heals for that psychologist? You do realize that it's against the rules to date another agent or a consultant, don't you? Man, that's rough buddy.” 

He looked drop dead exhausted. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy. His eye were bloodshot. His skin was alarmingly paler than usual. His hair was nappy. He looked as if he'd gone through hell. Still he had this excited smirk and he spoke with enough energy to power a space shuttle for three years. 

Evan felt his chest squeeze. He was startled to find how difficult breathing had suddenly become. It was as if his nose had plugged itself up and refused to let in any air flow. Or maybe the new lump forming in his throat was limiting his ability to breathe regularly. He didn't know. But seeing Brian excited and innocent and sleepy but happy to see some friendly faces, it hurt in a way he didn't yet understand. And as a scientist, he hated not understanding things. He figured it would be best to let Tyler handle all of the talking.

Tyler watched Brian carefully. There was no gentle way to do this. There was no sweet way to accuse a friend of murder. He smiled and accepted the offered pizza. He needed answers. He didn't need to give reason for his questions. Not yet. They could play a game until then.

“I'm still a love sick puppy. The trouble is the fact that he's a shrink. I think he picked up on my crush and is letting me down easy by ignoring it.”

“So, if he did return the feelings, you'd totally date the guy?”

“Oh without a doubt in my mind,” Tyler laughed. Overseas he'd learned the best way to interrogate people was to do so discreetly. People were far more willing to answer questions if asked in a casual way. Take away the implications of a crime or suspicion and the person in question won't shut up. He had to keep things light, keep things as if they'd just dropped by to say hi. 

Brian leaned back in his chair with a squint in his eyes. Tyler had seen that look far too many times. Brian was sizing up the situation. Like always. 

“You're willing to break the rules for this guy? You? You're Mr. The rules are set in stone and nothing can change that. You've never broken the rules for anybody. But you're willing to break the rules for him? How romantic.”

Tyler remembered why he hated talking to Brian. The dude never liked to let up on the teasing. It was great when he wasn't the one getting teased. Brain was a real hit at parties. He was the only person capable of making Craig turn so many shades of pink and red. 

“Well, what can I say? Haven't you broken the rules for someone? How about Craig. Put yourself in my shoes. You're me. Craig’s the shrink. Wouldn't you break the rules?”

Brian thought for a second. He gave a rapid burst of nods and laughed a bit. The sound got caught in his throat. It sounded more like a dying cough than an actual laugh. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair lost in a flurry of memories and thoughts that he wasn't entirely sure were appropriate to voice.

“He's the whole reason I came back to the states. I can't thank you enough for introducing us.”

“You're here to stay then? When did you get back?”

The coffee machine let out a little chirp. Brian jumped to his feet to help himself to the much needed caffeine. He spoke with his back turned towards the two investigators. 

“Yeah I'm here to stay. I got back about two, maybe three days ago? I don't know. I spent the first forty eight hours getting settled in. Hadn't slept till just last night. I guess I'm still stuck in another time zone to really get a good feel of things yet, you know?”

He didn't bother with a mug. There was no time and no saving him. His eyes were on fire and he felt like the embodiment of death. He emptied the coffee pot into his mouth. An action he immediately regret as it was beyond too hot and he was certain he wouldn't be able to taste anything for a week.

“You get any help from friends? Tell anyone you're back?”

“Nah. Didn't want to be a drag. I told Adam I was here. I've been meaning to speak with him. We were supposed to meet Wednesday at the Deb & Bart’s Tarts shop near the Marsh. He never showed. Hasn't answered any of my calls recently either. I figured he just bailed on me. Probably has some big scam he deemed more important than seeing an old friend.”

Evan caught Tyler’s eye. Hope returned to him. His ability to breathe returned and he felt alive once again. He felt like he was about to cry, but not out of sadness or anger or whatever strange emotion he wasn't able to name, but out of relief. Tyler motioned for him to calm down.

“You piss him off or something? What scam?”

“Adam pissed me off and I called him out on his shit which pissed him off. I mean- you know Adam. He likes the thrill of misbehaving. Always has. I don't think I should really tell you, you're both cops.”

Evan chuckled at that. His own voice sounded unfamiliar to his ears. Brian looked over to see what made Evan react so.

“He's the cop. I'm just the guy who works with corpses and evidence.”

“Agent, Evan, I’m not a cop. Special agent. And it's alright, Brian. We're friends here. Not agents. Not...corpse dude?...what ever Evan is. We’re friends. What was Adam doing?”

Brian looked from Tyler to Evan. He shrugged and returned to his seat. He downed as much of the scalding coffee as his throat would allow before the pain forced him to stop. While greatly uncomfortable, he found that it was a fantastic wake up call.

“He cheated this guy out of a lot of money for some guns. I normally wouldn't give two shits, but that guy he ripped off happened to be a pal of mine. I told Adam he had to pay the man. He got mad at me. So we agreed to meet at that bakery and settle things. Bastard chickened out or something.”

Evan wanted to get in the truck and drive all the way over to the little office building. He wanted to wait in that god awful elevator. He wanted to find Ohm’s office and punch him in the throat for ever suggesting Brian was a suspect. As far as he was concerned, Brian had an alibi. He wasn't eve in the states when Adam was murdered. 

Tyler went quiet. He'd gotten answers. He knew that he'd cleared Brian’s name. Brock could confirm Brian’s plane and flight hours back at the Marsh. That was no longer the problem. 

When he was overseas, he'd been sent as a tactical advisor. He'd been assigned the job of plotting out attacks, supply routs, ambushes, scouting missions, everything. It was like choreographing a big, bloody dance where sometimes people died. Point is, it was up to him to know who his light footed soldiers were and how to best place them about his plans. It was his job to be careful with the people he was working with. At the second, the situation at hand was no different from back then.

“Adam’s dead, Brian.” Not too subtle. Not subtle at all in fact. He winced at the words once they left his mouth. That wasn't exactly what he was going for.

Brian’s jaw fell agape. He stared at Tyler in disbelief and shock. He turned to Evan to see if it was true. His friend found himself unable to look him in the eye. 

“Adam’s dead? You mean our Adam, right? Montoya Adam? The rich guy who threw the best parties Adam?” Tyler nodded. Brian set his coffee pot down. 

“Anthony and Steven too,” Evan added after a second.

Brian put his head in his hands and was quiet. Grief. Tyler had told a vast many people that their loved ones had perished. Such a reaction wasn't an uncommon one. Normally, Ohm was there to offer support if wanted or necessary and Tyler would try to ask more questions. But he felt as if here, he didn't have any further questions to ask. 

“How'd they die? What happened?”

“They were murdered and we’re not quite sure who did it.”

Brian lifted his head with a sigh. His face was blotchy, the way faces get when someone is either about to cry or has been crying for a while. He was struggling to understand what all he was being told. Only seconds ago they were having a good time talking about their little childish crushes. 

“Oh god. I'm a suspect aren't I? I have to be. I sent some rather alarming messages-”

And once more his head was in his hands and he was crying now. Tyler felt like an ass to break the news to him so bluntly. He was usually better at easing into that sort of thing.

“Adam was killed about four to five days ago, you're clear as a suspect. At the second, we think it was Tom. Can you think of anyone else who Adam might have ripped off or angered?”

Brian struggled to catch his breath and regain his composure. He wiped away his tears with his sleeves and shook his head. 

“What about Steven and Anthony? Were they a separate case or are these three all connected?”

“Connected, I’m afraid,” Evan answered softly. Brian nodded and was quiet. 

Once more they were thrown into the every stillness of an apartment complex seemingly void of life. They could have easily been convinced it was if they weren't inside it sitting with proof that there were people inside. But now everything was quiet. Not even Tyler could hear anything. 

“Let me know if you need anything or can think of someone who might want to hurt them.” Tyler handed over his business card and lead Evan back out into the hall. He shut the door gently and the two listened to their friend fall to gross sobs. Neither said a word until they were both in Tyler’s truck.

“He didn't do it.”

Evan nodded. Since Brian had mentioned his arrival he couldn't stop repeating that sentence over and over again in his head. 

“So why do I feel so...bad?”

“Maybe because we thought for a second that he could have done it. Maybe because our friends are still dead and we don't know who's the asshole who killed them. I don't know. There is a long list of reasons, Tyler.”

Tyler nodded and started up the engine. He had to get Evan back to the Marsh. They needed evidence to convict the murderer. They needed to get a warrant to arrest Tom. They needed evidence to do so.


	6. Six

“Hey!” Ohm stepped inside the office quickly and tossed over a small file before taking a seat. Tyler groaned at the sight. If he had to do any more reading he would probably stab someone. And that someone would be himself. Most likely in the eyes. Just so that he WOULDN'T HAVE TO FUCKING READ ANYMORE. 

“You have motive. You also know that the man’s a gun dealer, Anthony and Steven were shot to death. Lab’s working on connecting the two as we speak. We have everything we need to get a warrant for his arrest and~” Ohm grinned as he gave up a document- “we can hold him for eight hours until then due to his track record.”

Tyler glanced up from the stack of papers across his desk to where Ohm sat. He looked like hell. He looked drained beyond words. He was clearly stressed and tired and eager for this mess to be done and over with. But there was another look in his eye that Tyler didn't see too often. Doubt. On Ohm? Never. The psychologist always over thought everything. He never doubted his decisions. It was unsettling to see the best in the field look uncomfortable with his own findings. 

“What’s on you mind?”

“I don't think he killed them.”

“You thought that Brian was capable-”

“No. I simply found him as a possible suspect. I was professional, like I'm supposed to be. But professionalism aside, I don't think that this Tom Syndicate killed them.”

Tyler sat up and leaned against his desk. The papers beneath him crumpled and bent. The chair bitched loudly about the movement. His head was tilted to the side. His face was an open book asking ten thousand questions he knew only Ohm could understand. Ohm, upon translating each and every last question displayed before him, sighed heavily and squirmed a bit.

“I don't know, Tyler. We have means and a potential weapon, but I just don't think he did it. Call it a gut instinct.”

“If he didn't kill him, then who did?”

“We need those cameras to know for sure. The new intern was apparently having troubles accessing their data. Evan and Jonathan both went out to find their installer, Max Gonzales. Until we have what's on those cameras, our killer could be anybody Adam may have pissed off. And you and I both know that's a lot of people.”

Tyler rolled his eyes and snatched up the documents. He plucked the arrest warrant free from its brothers and got to his feet. He stretched for a second, his back releasing a startling crescendo of popping sounds that it really shouldn't be making. 

“Well, I gotta bring this son of a bitch in. You said Evan’s getting help from that technician right?” Ohm nodded. Tyler frowned. “Ok. Grab your jacket. It's time to get shrinky with the illegal gun dealer.”

“I’m sure Evan’ll be back in a couple of minutes. You don't need to drag me along-”

“You said you had a gut feeling that it wasn't this guy right? Well I want you to be there when I arrest him. Do that creepy mind thing that you do.”

He opened his door and held it open, a silent demand for Ohm to get his ass in gear. Ohm took the hint and rushed to his feet and out the door. His face was crinkled with alarmed confusion. He looked over his shoulder back towards Tyler.

“Creepy mind thing?”

“Yeah. Creepy mind thing. That thing you do where you just take one look at a guy and somehow know every last detail about them. Sherlock.” 

“Ooh. Am I the BBC, Downey Jr, or the book Sherlock?”

“Yes.”

And with that, Tyler took the lead. Other agents jumped to get out of Tyler’s way. Some shot him nasty looks. None seemed to pay Ohm much mind. There was no real reason to. There was mention that the bureau wanted to promote Tyler. That meant that an agent of his choice might get his current job. Everybody wanted that job. 

Tyler climbed into his truck and got it roaring to life in a heartbeat. Ohm set to work on finding the quickest route to get to Tom’s current place of residence, something that had a habit of changing frequently. Tyler didn't bother to check his mirrors or strap on his seat belt. He was well aware that nobody else drove his truck, not if they wanted to keep their job. And he didn't trust seat belts. Ohm on the other hand, was a huge fan of seat belts as Tyler liked to drive like a bank robber in a heated car chase as seen on tv™. They'd be there in no time.

Max gladly followed Jonathan and Evan back to the Marsh. From there, Smitty and Evan went to work with him on the cameras. The second Jonathan had returned to the platform, Craig was by his side. He wore a happy little smile which could only mean one thing and one thing only. 

“I found something.”

He handed over a petri dish containing a smashed blob of metal. He rushed Jonathan over to the nearest microscope and plopped the metal mess beneath the lense. Jonathan began to search for what it was that Craig had seen.

“There's a serial number. Is this the bullet that killed one of them?”

“Yes and no.” Jonathan shot Craig a puzzled look. Craig struggled to get his mind to settle down enough to create coherent sentences before rushing to the nearest computer. His fingers danced across the keyboard at a rapid pace. In seconds, the screen switched from the unanswered emails to the X-rays of Adam Montoya. He pointed to the left iliac crest.

“This is where we found this bullet.”

“So?”

“A shot like this would immobilize Adam. It would hurt like a bitch, but it wouldn't kill him. Not instantly at least.”

He pulled up the X-Rays of Adam’s skull and zoomed in on the spider fractures displayed all along the frontal bone. He zoomed in closer to the right eye socket and pointed eagerly, wordless and unable to say just what exactly he was pointing at.

“I'll be damned,” Jonathan grumbled. “What caused the spider web fractures? Were you able to pull particulates?”

“Yes and I found traces of Amphistichus argenteus, or better known as the local Barred surfperch.”

Jonathan was quiet a moment. His face twisted in confusion. “The fish? Adam was shot and then beaten to death not only with chicken, but with fish too? How-?”

“I have no idea. That's not my domain. In fact, I believe that's yours. And Evan’s.” 

Jonathan wanted to hit Craig for being so smug and sarcastic with him. Still, this was useful. How many weapons could this strange combination match? Brock and Luke were going to have a field day with this one. He thanked Craig before taking the skull and placing it under a camera. Maybe he'd find something they'd missed.

He knew that Tyler was already off to go and arrest the next suspect. If this guy was the murderer, they'd need cause of death. And he couldn't just write down “dinner” as the court would never take them seriously and then that bastard would walk. They couldn't risk that. Not again. There had to be something they were missing. 

Then he found it. Though he wasn't sure what exactly it was. Among the spider fractures, there were rows and columns of evenly spaced puncture marks. Thirty six to be exact. Six rows of six. But only on the frontal bone and three of the right ribs. Whereas the parietal bone had been struck with a smooth surface also in a square shape. Odd. He'd need Brock and Luke to help with this one.

He rushed the skull into their office. Luke was staring at several X-rays trying to match the damages of the entrance and exerting bullet wounds to round sizes. Thus far, he hasn't gotten much. He grinned when he caught sight of Jonathan.

“What have you got for us?”

“I need Brock to identify what weapon can cause these markings,” he spat without bothering to mutter a greeting or catch his breath. He set the skull down gently. He then handed Luke the metal blob with a small grin. “And I need you to identify this bullet. See if you can find the manufacturer.”

Luke grinned at his little assignment and rushed to run it through his programs. Brock soon moved to start on reconstructing the shape of the weapon. 

Jonathan watched the two work hoping that they'd find something quickly. The phone in his pocket began to go off like crazy. He removed his gloves to answer it. Tyler’s voice cut into his ear.

“Jonny boy, I need to know what kind of gun was used to mow down Adam, Anthony, and Steven ASAP, you got that?”

“We’re working on it as we speak.”

“That's my man. Listen, the second you find out what it is, send me a message. I want as much evidence as we can get against this guy.” And then he hung up. 

Ohm glared at Tyler, his arms crossed tight against his chest. Tyler shot him a questioning look.

“What?”

“We don't want to puke up as much evidence as we can. We want to find the truth,” he gently reminded, though the tone he used was that of a mother who was dealing with a bratty toddler in a toy store most likely withholding the urge to beat the crap out of them right then and there. Tyler shrugged and turned his eyes back to the road.

“You may have a gut feeling that Tom didn't do it, but a gut feeling isn't proof. What I'm looking for is proof. And we have plenty of that already. We've convicted with less, and you know that. I'm just being professional, as you like to put it.”

Ohm just stared at Tyler for a moment. He wanted to argue but he knew better than to argue with this stubborn headed bull. He sighed softly and proceeded to just ignore him. 

Tyler instantly picked up on the anger that seemed to be seeping from Ohm’s pores. He rubbed a hand against his own face. Dealing with Ohm was like dealing with an angsty teenager sometimes. For a moment, he let himself forget about the case and forget about being professional.

“I didn't-look, I want the truth too, alright? I do. I just don't want to leave any room for reasonable doubt. I want to catch this guy. He killed my friends, Ohm.”

“I get it. I get it.” Honest he did. He'd lost people before this. They never got the Justice they deserved. That's why he understood perhaps more than Tyler did. Still he knew that if he tried to explain himself, Tyler would just shoot down his argument like it was nothing and that would be that. So he gave up trying. “Take a right up here and it's the big one just up ahead.”

Tyler spared a glance back at Ohm before obeying. He pulled onto the street nice and slow. He wanted to park down the street a bit across from the house in question. The car wasn't all the way stopped when Ohm was unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out. He was greeted by the rather loud barking of some large dogs and Tyler’s cursing. Both of which he readily disregarded. There was work to be done and he didn't have time to be distracted by unimportant noise.

His eyes were transfixed on the house before him. It was large. Larger than most but not freakishly so. The yard was poorly maintained and absent of any and all decorations. The blinds were all drawn down and closed shut tight. The fence looked a little worse for wear and occasionally a large dog would jump up and he could see the tips of its cut up ears. The front door had a small camera hidden away. The mail slot was over stuffed with unopened mail, most of which looked like bills and lawsuits. Nothing about business and no junk. Odd.

This man was scheduled, secluded, mistrusting, and very much aware of the illegal activities and their consequences. He wouldn't likely answer the door. If he did, the first thing out if his mouth was probably going to be a lie. They'd have to approach this in a different way than they normally did. That was irritating.

Tyler quickly caught up. He was stuffing his keys away into his pocket and bitching up a storm about how stupid it was for Ohm to hop out of a moving car the way he did. Ohm mindlessly informed Tyler of how stupid it was to drive recklessly without a seat belt and the argument was settled at that. Ohm was slow to follow Tyler to the door. He took the time to stop and try to see from the camera’s field of view. It was large, he could tell that much. Covered almost everything left of the house, from door step to the end of the drive way. He probably already knew they were there. 

Tyler gave a mighty knock on the door. Ohm shot him a quick look and opened his mouth to speak but wasn't given the chance as a voice pushed past a muffled speaker.

“What do you want?”

“FBI, I’m agent Tyler, this is my partner, Dr. Ohm. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Tyler was careful not to miss a beat with his practiced set of mandatory lines. The voice on the other end was silent, something Ohm feared would be the case. Eventually there came a soft sigh.

“Alright, just give me a second.” And then there was only silence. 

Ohm tugged on Tyler’s sleeve. Tyler instinctively leaned over so that Ohm could whisper what it was that he wanted to say. Evan did the same thing, so he was very sued to such a silent demand.

“I don't think he’s going to answer the door. I have a feeling he's going to try to run.”

“Why do you say that?”

Just as he was about to answer, a noise caught his attention. He glanced over at the cause and frowned. Ohm thrust a thumb towards the garage. Tyler turned on a dime in time to catch the heavy doors open and a car begin to back out of the drive way. Ohm grumbled something under his breath and rushed to the rescue by placing himself directly behind the car and rooting his feet in place. 

Alarms went off in Tyler's head. He ripped his loaded gun from its holster and aimed it right at the driver's seat. The car came to a screeching halt only a foot away from Ohm’s shins. Tyler ran over quickly. Tom exited his car with his hands in the air. An action no one should ever dare. Especially when in the presence of an upset and armed officer. Tyler’s aim never left the man but his attention did.

“What the hell was that?”

“He wasn't going to hit me. I was making sure he didn't go anywhere.”

“You couldn't have possibly known that!”

Ohm avoided the arising argument altogether by swiftly handing over the arrest warrant for Tom to see and verify. He then knocked on the truck with a disgruntled grumble.

“We’re going to have to search your car now, you know that right?”

The blood drained from Tom’s face. He glanced nervously from the gun still at him and the trunk. He nodded and slowly moved to pop the trunk, carefully telling the two men what he was doing as he did so. In the matter of seconds, the trunk was theirs to explore. 

Immediately, Ohm was overwhelmed by a suffocatingly awful stench that triggered his gag reflex and forced him several feet away from the assault. Tyler watched Ohm with a look of concern. He moved to see what had caused such a reaction and frowned at the sight. 

There was a large stain covering a vast majority of the trunk along with a tommy gun and a couple extra clips. Tom looked completely confused as to why one was nearly puking and the other looked so disgusted. 

“There's just an extra tire in there, I swear!” Tyler lifted an eyebrow. He'd never heard a more blatant lie, and he'd heard them all. Ohm regained his composure and moved to fish the handcuffs from Tyler’s pockets.

“Tom Syndicate, you're under arrest for the murder of Adam Montoya, Anthony Crious, and Steven Viking. You have the right to remain silent-”

“What? Murder? I never killed anybody.” Tom instantly began to resist Ohm’s attempts to secure his hands behind his back. He stopped when Tyler cleared his throat, reminding him of the gun still in his hand.

“Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law-”

“I never killed anybody! I sell guns, sure, but I’ve never pulled the trigger myself! I didn't kill anyone!”

Ohm fastened the cuffs quickly and began to lead Tom back to the truck. Tom almost refused to move. He wanted ever so badly to sneak a peek inside his car trunk to see what it was that they were arresting him for. Was there a body? 

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

“Let me explain! Check my cameras! I never killed anybody!”

“You can decide at anytime to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements. Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you? Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?”

Tom took a seat in the back seat and stared wide eyed at Ohm. He looked over to Tyler. He was eager to get them to listen to him.

“I never killed anyone!” Ohm shut the door careful to ensure he didn't hurt Tom and turned to Tyler with a huff. Tyler looked back to the trunk.

“Still think he’s innocent?”

Ohm thought for a second. Something was wrong. And very much so. He felt like a large portion of the puzzle was missing. It was as if they'd found a stray piece and were trying to force it in every way possible to make up for the missing others. It wasn't working. So much was still a mystery.

“Yes.”

Tyler was bewildered. He frowned and returned his gun back to its holster. He eyed Ohm like the crazy man he was and shook his head.

“Evan was right about you. You're a magic eight ball, you know that?”

“So I've been told. I'll call in a team to collect evidence samples. We should get him back to the bureau.” Ohm ran a hand through his hair. 

He wasn't sure how he knew, and now, even with so much piled up against this man, he was certain of his innocence. Certain of it. It was one of those things only he could understand. Just like how only Jonathan could understand bones. And Luke with guns. It was a specialty. Only problem with his was the fact that it was all situationally based. Bullets never lie just as bones can't fake injuries, but people are unpredictable and not one is exactly like another. 

But he knew Tom wasn't a killer. He had a temper and a motive, and the evidence was all right there, but it was wrong. It had to be.

None of them said anything on the drive back to the bureau. Tom stopped his pleading of innocence and chose to remain as silent as possible. He figured that was the smartest thing to do. Ohm didn't want to talk to Tyler because he already knew what Tyler was going to say as he didn't want to argue. Tyler was fuming, but didn't want to cause a scene in front of the suspect.

He lead Tom into the interrogation room and cuffed him to the cold, metal table. Tyler took a seat across from him. Ohm was nowhere to be seen. That made the man all the more uncomfortable. He wasn't going to lie, Tyler scared the absolute shit out of him. And from what little interaction he'd seen between the two, Ohm clearly had control in their odd little relationship. He'd seen every cop show known to man. He knew that the angry cops always got violent when the good one wasn't around. And he knew that there would be nothing he could do about it. No one would believe him either if something went wrong.

He tried to calm himself by studying the room they were in. There were cameras in every corner of the room. The walls were padded with a dark blue foam. The door required a keycard to get out. To his right there sat a mirror that covered a large portion of the wall. A window, he was sure. He couldn't be fooled. He hoped that there was someone behind it who would come rushing in to save him should things get ugly.

Tyler cleared his throat. Tom jumped a bit at the sound and struggled to relax. Ohm, who was standing alone in the room just beyond the two way mirror, took note of every little reaction. The way Tom kept fidgeting and squirming. The way his eyes kept darting back to the mirror. The way he stared at Tyler with wide eyes. This man was genuinely scared. 

There are two types of scared. Guilty scared and just plain scared. Ohm couldn't effectively differentiate between the two until he heard what it was Tom had to say. As of then, things weren't exactly looking good. He'd soon be forced to write his claim against this man. 

“Where were you at ten pm on the seventeenth?”

Tom looked panicked as he threw himself into his memory to try and retrace time. He was anxious, Ohm could see the sweat beads even from his distance. He finally shrugged in defeat. 

“I can't remember. I have an issue with my memory. I have my camera’s though. The one outside of my door? It catches everything, from my front door to the end of the street. If I ever left, you'd see me. It has timestamps as everything.”

Tyler kept his face void of all emotion. He kept himself unreadable. Ohm may think this man to be innocent, but he was convinced the exact opposite. They had plenty of evidence and now this man had no alibi. Oh yeah. He'd never seen anyone more guilty before in his life.

Ohm frowned. He ran through the gathered evidence in his head and started trying to make connections and fill in blanks. He knelt down and whispered into a microphone that fed into a small earpiece Tyler was wearing.

“Ask him about his car.”

Tyler thought over how exactly to approach that topic. It would help if he had photographs of what they found. They didn't. He'd rushed Tom into questioning before the team even had a chance to gather all of the evidence. 

“What about your car? Where was that at ten PM on the seventeenth?”

Again, Tom shrugged. He made a small sound as he thought before his eyes lit up.

“A friend asked to borrow it. I have three cars and didn't mind lending him one. He took it on the fourteenth and gave it back on the nineteenth.”

Ohm listened intently. His eyes never left the man before him. He was no killer. He was too jumpy to be a killer. He was the sort who feared the consequences too much to take a life. 

“Who borrowed the car?”

“I can't remember. People borrow my cars all the time. Check my camera!” Tyler sighed heavily. He got to his feet. They'd have to look through the cameras just to get this guy to shut up about them. He shot Ohm a look through the window and moved to leave. Tom sat forward in alarm.

“Are you going to let me go or-?”

“Oh god no. See, I have a court order here that says I can keep you here for another eight hours. Get comfortable buddy.” He swiped his card and left Tom to stew in the room alone. Ohm made. I move to follow suit even though he knew that's exactly what Tyler wanted him to do. He chose instead to watch Tom a moment longer. The man looked distraught. 

Ohm felt helpless. Something wasn't right. He hopes that the geek squad would be able to get into the video feed sometime soon so that they could finally clear this man’s name and catch the fucker who started all of this. Until then, he had some paper work to attend to and he was certain that the team would want him back at the house to finish his examination and profiling. He left the room with a small groan.

Evidence, he thought to himself, focus on evidence. Adam was shot and beaten. The killer had either chased Adam away from his home or kidnapped him. Either way, it shows that the killer wasn't acting out of spontaneous rage. This had been planned. They were looking for a strategic man with a grudge. Someone smarter than what others gave credit for. 

And not to offend anyone, but Tom didn't seem like the kind of man to fit that description. The killer was capable of working alone and trickery. Tom wasn't very good at working alone. As was evidence with the condition he'd found the yard in. And the company of several big dogs. Tom was the type who knew it was safe to have another always have his back. The camera, the dogs, is unknown business partners-

Ohm suddenly tore through the halls. Business partner. He had to find that business partner. If Adam ripped of Tom, he ripped off the other guy too. Tom might not be capable of murder, but maybe this other was. Now all he had to do was find the guy. Finally, finally, things were starting to go right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What even are Chilled and Ze's last names? Oh well. This'll do I guess. Thanks for the continued support! Y'all are amazing! <3


	7. Seven

Brock let out an aggravated cry and fell back into his seat. His eyes burned. He'd been staring at this blasted screen all day and was getting really sick of it. He needed a coffee or maybe heroine, something! All he knew was that he was getting nowhere with this. 

There was nothing in his data base that fit the grooves. He figured that the pattern would at least give them something, but there was a disruption that the computer just refused to ignore as Brock had requested it to. When being bludgeoned, the skull is bound to break in odd ways. Basic physics could tell you that. An idiot who didn't know up from down could even tell you that. Computers were supposed to be smart and all knowing and yet it seemed baffled by this completely reasonable possibility. It was frustrating!

Luke hopped over with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Brock glanced at him hoping that the news he was about to give was going to somehow solve this case. Hopefully with out any more math equations. And programming. Luke pulled up his findings for Brock to look over and confirm.

“I think I figured out why you're having problems.”

Brock sat up. Only seconds ago, he felt like closing his eyes and just melting into the uncomfortable plastic chair that supported him. But with Luke’s words, surely delivered from the heavens above, he felt alive once more. 

Luke highlighted the fracture that was causing so many issues. Brock leaned forward in a wild attempt to see what Luke was seeing. He spotted it. His eyes lit up and he stared at Luke in disbelief. Wouldn’t Jonathan have seen this? It was right up his alley.

“A bullet wound?”

“Who ever killed Adam has some serious anger issues. Go fetch Evan and Jonny. I have just a few more things to confirm and I think I’ve found cause of death.” 

Brock jumped to his feet and rapidly fled from the room. Finally, he thought, some progress! It was about damn time. He found Evan with the camera installer and Smitty. Jonathan was in their office before he even had the chance to fetch him. Now with the crowd gathered, Luke got down to business.

“Jon, do you see what I see?” Luke pointed out the depression point that disturbed the spider fractures. The skull was mostly intact. All that was missing was a few chips here and there presumably still at the murder sight, which had yet to be found. 

Jonathan moved a bit closer. He frowned at what he saw and made a beeline for the skull. He scooped it up to examine it with his own two eyes.

“That's not possible.”

Luke let Jonathan fall into his pit of wonder and self hatred for a second. He turned back to the crowd appalled and silent, his jaw slightly agape. Luke easily directed all attention towards Brock’s computer screen.

“Originally, we thought cause of death was caused by an unknown blunt instrument bashing in the skull several times. The fracture lines show three blows all delivered in approximately the same area, localized. But upon further observation, it appears that the assault wasn't cause of death at all.”

Evan tilted his head to the side. Luke quickly blew up the image and began to outline the injuries he had mentioned along with a fourth one. 

“The fracture lines almost hid this,” he informed, “I know I missed it the first seventeen times I went over them.”

Evan squinted at the screen. Brock looked as lost as all ever. Jonathan’s face cleared of all the previous distress and he moved to show Brock what he was seeing, now completely understanding what Luke was getting at.

“Here, in the squamous structure, there's a bullet hole. The fracture it caused is smoothed and round.” Brock nodded. He wasn't very good with this fracture stuff. 

“Adam wasn't beaten to death.”

“Oh my god, he was shot,” Evan murmured to himself. He probably should work on said mumbling however as the group all heard him. 

“The shot killed him instantly. And then he was beaten,” Brock thought aloud. He got an approving nod from Jonathan.

“Our killer was one angry guy,” Luke commented under his breath. He had gotten angry enough to break shit but not enough to murder a man. That kind of anger seemed unrealistic to him. The mind of anger you'd only see on TV, or read in a book. 

“This find is great and all, but I found something else,” Jonathan cut in once he had remembered why he'd gone to find Luke and Brock in the first place. “He was actually shot twice.”

He pulled Evan by the hand and lead him back to the platform. The team stared after them a second before rushing to follow. Jonathan handed Evan a bone and waited to see if he could find what he had.

“There's a small fracture bite to right rib eight…” Evan observed. Jonathan quickly stole back the bone and put it down where it belonged.

“He was shot in the false ribs. It was a flesh wound that would hurt like a bitch but wouldn't kill him.”

Craig suddenly joined the group. He had a smile on his face that refused to flatten. He looked far too excited as this wasn't exactly the kind of stuff you get happy about. He was glad to find everyone already there and waiting. He’d just gone through the house’s evidence. He felt that he had big news.

“The metal fragment we found doesn't match the bullets recovered at the house’s crime scene. It's safe to assume this one is at the murder sight.” 

Evan thought back to Tyler’s briefing. Adam had just made a purchase of some tommy guns. Tom Syndicate had been the supplier. But all tommy gun ammo had been retrieved and accounted for. Thirty rounds fired, thirty bullets recovered. 

“But we have an extra bullet wound. From a different gun too, the size is different,” Luke added. Craig opened his mouth as if to add in his own information and answer the unasked questions but stopped himself as he had nothing. He fell away to puzzled thoughts.

“Not gonna lie, this news surprises me. But I don't think it should because the metals are different. Why am I surprised?”

Evan snatched the binder from a nearby table and began to go through all of the neatly catalogued injuries. He scanned the bones to double check his findings and sighed heavily before putting it back. Everything appeared to be where it needed to be. That was no fun. He was really looking forward to yelling at the new intern too. 

“Excellent work. I will let Tyler know-” his eyes stayed fixed on the ribs. The fractures were documented and expertly so, but something was off. He plucked it from the others and pulled Jonathan over to serve as more eyes. 

“There’s greenstick fracturing to the left iliac crest,” he pointed out. 

“Yes. We believe that this was the entrance wound for the first shot. It exited out the false ribs.” Jonathan was annoyed to have to repeat himself.

“You said that this was a flesh wound, but I find I must disagree.”

“What?” Jonathan was more than annoyed now. He was an expert. He was rarely ever wrong. The last time he was wrong about something was that one blind date his sister had hooked him up with. He was never wrong about his findings and it was a great insult to be told that he was. By a retired archeologist no less! Evan had felt with prehistoric animals before this. Animals. Not humans. No. Jonathan wasn't wrong. He couldn't be. T’was Evan who had to be wrong, he was sure. He was irritated to find that his distress was being totally ignore as Evan had moved on.

“Luke, you were completely correct with your assumption that a shot killed him, but it wasn't the one to his head.”

Brock cocked his head to the side in confusion. He shared a look with Luke and Craig before allowing the doctor to continue with his analysis.

Evan placed the rib beneath the microscope. He held out his hand impatiently. Jonathan hesitantly handed over a cotton swab. Evan ran the cotton tipped end over the fracture and handed it over to Craig.

“There's a fragment of the bone missing. At this sort of angle, it's likely the fragment was lodged into Adam’s hip, severing the internal iliac artery.”

It startled Craig, Luke, and Brock when Jonathan grew a look of realization. As if he’d been staring at a puzzle piece for hours and someone just came along and flipped it upside down and now suddenly it fit. 

“This was the shot that killed him.”

“Essentially, yes.”

Brock shook his head more confused now than ever. He'd worked on some really weird cases before with some pretty freaky injuries, including one where there was a death by comically oversized shoe, but normally everything made sense. This? This didn't.

“The puncture, albeit small, would have caused him to start bleeding. He died seconds before being shot once again and then beaten. He bled out because of this first shot.”

Suddenly everyone shared that very expression Jonathan had worn only moments ago. 

“So, Adam, Anthony, and Steven are in the pool room when they all get shot up. Anthony and Steven die in this process. Adam gets shot in the ribs. Unable to do much, the killer takes him-”

“And stuffs him in the trunk.” All eyes moved to greet the new voice. Marcel swiped his clearance card and joined the group on the platform. In his hands was the report that Ohm had just sent over along with the pictures of Tom’s car. He turned to Craig with a small box of particulates for him to go over. Craig greedily took them. It was a bit disturbing just how happy his job made him at times.

“The killer transports a bleeding Adam to an unknown location where he then beats and shoots him one last time with a different gun than the one before,” Brock concluded. Evan nodded. Everything seemed to be in order. The injuries lined up. Now they just had to find what instrument was used to destroy Adam’s skull, ribs, and limbs. He could worry about that later. 

Tommy gun, Anthony, Steven, and Adam were all murdered with a tommy gun. Tom Syndicate is a gun dealer. Adam and Tom had a dispute over financial issues. Tom’s car had evidence of bodily fluids in its trunk along with a tommy gun. They had everything the needed all lined up in a row.

“He suffocated. He drowned in his own blood. You found cause of death. I'll go tell Tyler.” 

He ripped his gloves off his hands and tossed them in the waste basket nearest the door. The others watched him flee. Everyone in the room felt queasy. They'd seen some terrible things in their line of work. Luke had once reconstructed a face using parts of the victim's actual face flesh which had been ripped apart and stitched together with several other bits and pieces. Like some sort of frankenstein monster. Brock once reconstructed a death scene in where the victim was systematically burned to death. Craig didn't even want to get into the things he'd seen. They'd all seen something horrendous. But for some reason this case made their stomachs uneasy.

Some deaths were brutal. They knew that much. Suffocation was perhaps the most brutal as it lasted forever, burned like fire, and most of the time the victim would still be conscious. To still be awake and alive and able to feel everything like that was just monstrous. 

Who on this planet could possibly be such a monster to let someone die like that? Besides that, if this new head shot was different, what type of gun was used here and why is it different? Why shoot an already dead man? Why proceed to beat him afterwards?

Craig sighed and excused himself. He had some metal to examine in the hopes of identifying some unique blend and trace it back to a manufacturer. Luke had a far better, and much less (arguably) complicated, idea. He turned to Brock with an excited grin.

“I know the best way to figure out what kind of gun was used.” Brock cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms expectantly. Luke pulled him along and stopped Marcel before the forensic coroner could get too far. 

“Hey! Brock and I are going out for a bit, we’ll be back in about two hours,” he informed quickly. He took off before Marcel had the chance to spit out the questions everyone knew were coming, ones that Luke knew he had answers to, and eventually the flat out denial of his fun plans. Marcel watched the two go and shook his head disapprovingly. This place was just a mess of chaotic scientists he could not control.

Brock probably asked Luke a trillion times where it was that they were going. Luke had refused to say. It was a surprise, he'd bitch just to get Brock to be quiet. He had been jonesing to get out of that stuffy office for hours now and he wasn't about to go back just because they could literally figure everything out with some stupid math equations. Besides, he figured his method was more fun.

He pulled up to the bureau and grinned. Brock looked around greatly confused. How exactly would this place help them with the second gun?

Luke had that answered quickly upon getting clearance from Tyler to use the shooting range. What better way to find out what gun was used than comparing gunshots?

Brock was suddenly very happy. This was indeed far better than sitting around struggling with math equations for several hours. And honestly, it didn't take them long to find the gun at all.

They were looking for a military issued handgun with a silencer. Shot at close range. That wasn't exactly an uncommon gun, but every gun owner had to have it documented. Besides that, data showed that in their area, only three thousand people owned such a gun, and of those thousands, four were reported to have known Adam. Brian, Tom, Evan, and Tyler. Now all they had to do was find it and the murder sight and this case was practically solved. Neither boys were ashamed to pat themselves on the back and congratulate each other on the job well done. Tom Syndicate was going to be locked away for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early posting! Where I am, is 1 am and technically Tuesday. 
> 
> Yo, so I have been trying really hard to get some stuff done with Scabs and Scars and after a month I'm proud to say I have three hundred words and no progress. And with school coming up, it may take a while for that particular story to update any time soon. Sorry for those interested.
> 
> Anyhow! This chapter was a doozy! I wanted to include a lot of medical things but I decided not to because after reading it, it was sondey and boring I wanted to cry. But I think I covered the most important injuries. I'm also really sorry if I repeat myself a lot. After the seventeenth concussion I can't remember anything.
> 
> C'est guerre 
> 
> Thanks for the love and support! ~ uwotmate


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I didn't double check for mistakes so there's probably a lot of those. My bad

Tyler had his teams ripping apart Tom’s house for the gun in question. He also had a small team searching the place for the murder sight. Thus Far, they'd been rather unsuccessful. Maybe Adam was killed elsewhere. It didn't matter. They'd find it in no time, he was certain. 

He felt as if they'd practically solved this case, had it all tied up nice and neat just ready to serve to the judge and jury. At this point, there was no hope for Tom walking away with an innocent charge. That and who wants to let a murderer of three walk back out into the streets? Nobody that's who.

His hands flew across the keys as he wrapped up his statement and finished up with the case’s documents. He'd let out a comfortable sigh of relief. He'd given them all justice. It was about damn time too. At least he knew now that they could Rest In Peace knowing that the man who'd slaughtered them was going to spend the rest of his miserable life rotting in some cell somewhere. 

He pushed himself away from his desk. He was in a strangely good mood. He knew that soon he'd have to help plan for the funerals and the morning was going to set in, but for now he figured he could take the win and run with it. 

He wove his way past other agents. Half wanted to stop and chat with him. They were readily kissing his ass hoping to earn his approval. They wanted that office oh so badly. Tyler took the time to humor a few. Why not? Most of his coworkers really weren't that horrible to talk to. He just wasn't interested in all the sucking up that was happening. It was pitiful. Still, nothing could kill his good mood.

His hands pulled his keys from his pockets. He twirled them around on his finger. He walked with a slight skip in his step. He knocked out a quick melody on Ohm’s office door. The man didn't bother to look up and see the visitor. He figured it was another colleague dealing free “friendly advice” from him like usual. 

That drove him nuts. He was a psychologist. He was on the clock. His job wasn't to sit down and talk to people about their problems anymore. He'd moved on from that years ago. Still, he'd never turn down a friend in need so long as they kept their visits organized, set up appointments, take the time to actually attend said appointments, and take the therapy session seriously. However, not one of his friends liked doing any of they. They just liked stopping by his office whenever they felt like it an unloading everything on him all at once. They'd then expect him to have an answer immediately and get mad at him when they didn't like what he had to say. Then they'd bitch about wasting their time and how unhelpful he was, but not after bringing up the fact that Ohm was “supposed to be a psychologist” and therefore supposed to be all knowing and super helpful. It was like they forgot that this was his job, that he was human, that he was overworked enough as it was and not getting paid nearly enough as he was due. 

The new found company instantly put Ohm in a fowl mood. He wanted the visitor to go away and leave him alone. He didn't have time to listen to someone complain. An innocent man was about to be put to trial for a crime he didn't commit and he was racing against the clock to find the truth. Because apparently everyone else was blind to it. 

Tyler knocked again, hoping to get Ohm’s attention. He watched Ohm continue to scribble away on his small legal pad. He'd look up for just a second at the computer screen before him. His glasses hung at the tip of his nose and he didn't bother to push them back into place. Tyler thought it was cute. He knocked for a third time.

“Come in,” Ohm grumbled. Tyler happily did so. He danced around the small desk and took a seat on its corner. E watched Ohm work and frowned.

“How much paperwork did they give you? Damn.”

“What do you want? I'm busy.”

Tyler brushed off the sour tone Ohm had given. This amount of paperwork could easily strangle every last ounce of happiness from a person. So it was decided, Ohm definitely needed a break.

“Are you too busy to get lunch with me-?”

“Yes.” The answer was short and emotionless. It wasn't really a word. More like a punctuation mark. A “!” of sorts just spoken aloud. It startled Tyler a bit. Maybe some humor could help.

“Oh come on now, you can't be that busy. Whatchu working on anyway?”

Ohm set his pencil down. He rubbed his temples. He felt the start of a headache pulse behind his eyes. How come no one in this place ever bothered to listen to him? He had the most work experience than all of them, you'd think they'd take that into consideration when approaching him with anything. He forced himself to calm down and finally looked at Tyler.

“Tyler, I appreciate the offer, I really do. But if I stop now, I'll lose my train of thought and have to start all over. Maybe some other time, ok?” 

Tyler frowned. He may not be a psychologist, hell, he knew next to nothing about psychology, but he could tell when someone was lying or holding back what it was that they really wanted to say. He'd seen in on his parents faces, in the military, in the victim’s family members, in the murderer’s eyes. He'd seen it everywhere. It hurt to see it in Ohm. Still, he didn't want to poke an angry beehive. He slowly plucked himself off of Ohm’s desk and saw himself out. 

“Well, if you happen to change your mind, I’ll be at Momed.” Ohm nodded, though Tyler doubted he'd actually hear what Tyler had just said. He was already back to scribbling away.

Well that sucked. No matter. Tyler wasn't about to let Ohm’s sir mood ruin his. He wasted no time digging his phone out of his pocket and ringing up Evan. 

The two met up at Momed. It was the closest thing between both the Marsh and the bureau. It was this sweet little place. Not really a restaurant but not a fast food joint either. Something perfectly in between. They gave out discounts to the agents and officers. Open for 24 hours six days of the week. 

Evan had taken up his usual seat nearest the far back corner. He liked the window booth over there. The vent was busted and blew cold air, so it was rare anyone else would lay claim to it. Besides that, he had the perfect view of the road Tyler would take to get there. He had a good view of almost anything really. He'd seen it maybe ten thousand times or more. If someone were to ask him to draw the scenery set beyond that dusty pane of glass, Evan could accurately depict it without much thought.

There was the leaning street lamp on the corner of the sidewalk that a car hadn't seen. There was the small laundry shop across the street, the windows all broken and a for lease sign posted on the side of the wall. The graffiti coated walls that once belonged to a barber shop. The small and rather annoying parking lot. He could sketch it all out in a matter of seconds. He'd seen this in his dreams even.

This was home for him. He tried to think of going a week without looking out that far back window and he hated it. That was like parting with a good friend. 

Speaking of, Tyler skipped inside the building with a happy smile. He greeted the waitress by name before taking the seat across from his partner. Seeing Tyler this happy was a rare thing. Since the threat of a promotion, stress had crumpled the giant’s smile and soured his mood. Seeing that radiant grin was a welcomed change.

Tyler leaned back in his chair with a triumphant sigh. He knew that in due time, he'd be drowning under the stress of funeral planning and he'd be left to mourn for the deaths of his friends, but in that moment there was peace. He felt that he'd done his job and that alone put him at ease even if just for a moment. He felt like he could finally step back from this crazy rollercoaster of a day it's been and once again feel normal.

“Work aside, how have you been?” That was a normal conversation starter with a friend right? Small talk. It was so refreshing to talk about someone’s life instead of their death. And the way Evan’s face flashed with a startling mix of emotion told Tyler that he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

Evan leaned back in his chair with a groan. He wished Momed sold alcohol, but that would be a stupid idea all around. He hadn't exactly had a lot of time to even think about things either. So his thoughts were choppy and everywhere, in a storm of chaos he couldn't see logic in, and he hated it.

“Luke wants to move to Greece.” He hasn't meant for the words to fall from him the way he did. He'd intended to sound separated from such a topic. He was startled to find that his own body had betrayed him. He sounded so unhappy and upset. That wasn't at all how he felt. Ok, so maybe it was. But he didn't need Tyler to know that.

“Greece? That's a bit of a drive-”

“You can't drive to Greece, Tyler.”

“What? No, Evan, I was-ok. Never mind. Forget it. Any way, why Greece?”

Evan shrugged slightly. He wasn't exactly paying attention to what Luke had been saying as there had been more pressing things at hand he had been far more interested in. He just knew that Luke was almost dead set determined to go.

“Art, I think. He wants to sculpt and take pictures,” he grumbled. He took a second to try and think of what was so appealing about the distant country. What did Greece have that California didn't? Why would anyone want to leave?

“You know how he can get. The man can only stand still for so long. Maybe he just wants a change in scenery.”

“But why? We're happy. We have all that we could ever want and need. I won't lie, we’re spoiled brats. Everything we know and love is here. Not in Greece. Why would we ever want to leave?”

Tyler listened as Evan went on and on. It was weird to catch him unprepared for a conversation. Evan was very fond of over thinking his next words to the extent that he'd rather remain silent than say anything at all. He was level headed and calm. But not today. Today, the words fell from him like rain and he was stuttering in the search for the perfect words to use but couldn't think on the spot. Finally, he just gave up trying and moved on to his next argument. 

Evan hated change more than anything else on this green earth spinning round. He hated a lot of things too. But he could often handle most other things. Except for traffic. That was also beyond his control and he loathed it. But change? There was so much he could do nothing about and that alone terrified him. So much could go wrong. There was no way to tell if he'd be ready for it. It was like when Tyler had been shot. It was when he'd gotten the job at the Marsh after he'd arrived only to be a consultant and leave once the case was finished. It was like when he'd thrown all of his card down on the table and asked Luke to marry him. He hated change. Some change he'd been given time to prepare for, such as his current job and happy marriage. But others had almost destroyed him like when Tyler flatlined. 

Greece was the biggest change they'd face. He'd have to get a new job and meet new people. He wouldn't have his house. He would be somewhere he knew nothing about. He'd be miles away from anything familiar aside from his husband. 

Now, he loved and adored Luke more than he could possibly say. And already he'd done so much for them. But he couldn't get up, drop everything, and run away to Greece like two lovesick teenagers. His home was here, with his friends, his family, and his job. He wasn't about to pretend none of that existed and it bewildered him to know that Luke could easily do such a thing.

And what hurt the most was knowing that Luke would leave Evan behind in a heartbeat to pursue his love for his art. He would never allow another human being stop him from flourishing. If Luke was dead set determined to go, and Evan wasn't ready when he was packing, then Evan may not ever see his husband again. And that change was large and horrifying. Evan hated everything about this. He hated having to choose so blindly two options he wasn't fond of. He'd either lose his life and all he's ever known or he'd lose the one man he loved above all others.

“How much do you love Luke?” 

Evan was startled to hear another voice aside from his own. He'd entirely forgotten the fact that he'd been talking to someone. He stared at Tyler and tried to conjure up a good answer.

“A lot. I love him to death.”

“Do you love him enough to follow him across the world without looking back?”

And Evan was quiet. The waitress danced over and set down their usual orders. Her presence allowed a moment of silence to separate the two friends and Evan was able to think for once before he spoke. And once she had sauntered away, he turned his attention back to Tyler.

“What would you do? Say that you were me and Ohm was Luke. What would you do?”

Tyler smiled softly. He uncrossed his arms and leaned against the table. This was something he usually did with suspects he was interrogating. It meant that he'd thought about what he was about to say along with the next seen interactions. He had Evan right where he wanted him. 

“I’d follow him anywhere.”

That was all he had to say. Evan knew better than to press for reasonings and examples. Tyler already had everything planned and he knew it would be pointless. He'd been given his answer. And he both hated, and respected it. 

He nodded once to convey thing before they began to eat. Well, at least they tried to get a couple of bites in. 

Tyler hasn't even gotten the chance to dig into his burger when Evan’s pocket erupted with a flurry of small electronic chirps and chimes. In an instant, Evan had the phone to his ear and a rather annoyed look spread across his features. He said next to nothing and hung up. He called the waitress over and asked for some boxes.

“What's up?”

“I have to get back to the Marsh, Smitty found something.”


	9. Nine

Security cameras were never very good. Resolution was always gritty, you could never make out any faces, and when it got dark you could just forget about being able to see anything other than the passing headlights of unknown cars. Smitty had learned this when he would help his father out catching shoplifters. Security cameras all sucked. Or they weren't even functional.

But Adam was rich. He didn't have normal security cameras. He had these high tech toys that were a field day to tinker with. It had taken him an hour, but he finally got access to their video feed and had spent the rest of his time reviewing the footage on the night of Adam, Steven, and Anthony’s death.

He was thankful that he didn't have to watch much. Anthony and Steven had supposedly died about fourteen hours before Adam, placing a near perfect estimation of time of death. All he had to do was watch what happened and with these fancy cameras, he figured he shouldn't have any troubles. 

Or so he'd hoped. He started watching the house three hours before the deaths hoping to see what car Anthony and Steven had arrived in. But three hours before death, he saw nothing. Only the gigantic mess that was Montoya Manner and all its majesty. The driveway was empty if any cars that Adam didn't own. 

Speaking of, Adam could be spotted in his backyard comfortably sunbathing in his birthday suite, a sight Smitty wish he hadn't seen. That did nothing but confirm that at that time Adam had been home, and presumably alone. 

Smitty waited ever so patiently for time to pass just to see when the other two would arrive. He didn't need a time so much as he needed their car, something that was missing from the scene. Maybe Adam picked them up. At least, Smitty had expected that to have been the case. However, at precisely eight in the evening, the cameras all stopped recording. All of them. Smitty thought that only one had died or corrupted. He then spent a solid two hours to see if it was all the others. Eight pm, cameras went dead. 

Then at three in the morning, they were back up and running. That was an eight hour window for the killer to mow down the house without being taped. Smitty never got to see Anthony and Steven arrive. He never saw how they got there or who was responsible for the drive by. The last thing he saw was Adam see himself inside with a phone in his hand. 

That was odd right? Cameras don't just cut off for eight hours. That would be pointless. 

At first he thought that it was just the one camera, but they all did it. And not just on that night, but every night since installment. He's done as told and quickly informed Evan of the his findings. But now what? Was Max still around? Maybe he could help with the issue.

He got up from his uncomfortable seat and fled from the office. The computer screen, in his absence, remained on. The recorded footage continuing to play on. The morning after Anthony and Steven’s death played for no one to see. The house was now riddled with bullet holes. Broken glass smothered the garden. Blood trailed from the front door to the middle of the U shaped driveway. Tire marks, faint but there, racing away where the bloody trail ended. In the distance, a small flash of light. What it was? Now that, no one was around to determine. No one was around to have even seen it. 

Smitty wandered through the building anxiously. He was worried that if he didn't get this problem fixed then Evan would have him fired. He needed this job. He hopes that finding Max and getting an explanation or a solution for the issue would earn his some kudos in Evan’s eyes and save his job. However, he never had a chance to find Max. 

Craig’s eyes lit up when he spotted Smitty. He dropped everything and darted over. He tried his best to throw on a genuine look of concern. Smitty slowed to a stop. Had Evan already fired him? That was a bit harsh. Craig, unaware of Smitty’s small dilemma, pouted at the small intern.

“Smitty, thank god I caught you! Here-” he reached into his pocket and pulled free ten crumpled dollars, “-We’re running low on ice and I need you to go to the store and buy more ice mix.”

Smitty stared down at the cash in his hands. Words alone cannot explain nor express the anguish plastered upon his face. He looked, slowly, up at Craig.

“You want me to buy what now?”

“Ice mix. Ice mix! Are you daff, boy?”

Smitty shook his head and struggled to find a voice to try and apologize. But it refused. Refilling water fountains, sweeping the parking lot, ten pound marshmallow bags, and now ice mix? America was weird. Nay, not weird. It was wrong! It was very wrong. America was crazy! His mother was right, he should have just settled on being a high school anatomy teacher.

“Is there even a thing such as ice mix?”

“Are you holding ten dollars?” Smitty glanced down at his hand once more. He nodded hesitantly. Craig placed both hands on Smitty’s shoulders and guided him towards the door. “Then I guess you have your answer. Now go quickly. Evan’s on his way back and he gets unreasonable when he doesn't have his ice.”

And with that, he gave Smitty a gentle push and sent him on his way. And once Smitty had vanished through the doors, he dropped the act and laughed lightly. God he missed this. He was going to be sad when Smitty finally caught onto what they were doing. He couldn't wait for Smitty to return empty handed so that he could over react about it. 

But much to Craig’s unknown dismay, Smitty had already caught on. Something wasn't quite right here. Canada and America may have been two completely different countries, but ice was ice no matter where in the world you were. Ice mix was frozen water. How dumb did this facility think he was? If Craig thought that he'd won then he had another thing coming. Smitty would go to the store and he wasn't going to return empty handed. And god almighty could tell you right here, right now, that there would be ice.

He still had work to do though. While his car started up he pulled his phone from his pocket and called up Brock. He wasted no time placing a request to find Max the camera man and implore him for answers to the camera issues.

Brock is a reasonable man. He enjoys pranks and jokes as much as the next, but he also knows when work is work and when he can play around. He would have happily done as Smitty had asked if he'd been able to hear the child. He wasn't used to shooting firearms. He'd forgotten about the vicious kicks and how loud they were. He couldn't hear a fucking thing. You could have told him that Marcel, the love of his life, was in. The hospital and he'd have no idea why you were so upset. He held the phone to his ear mostly for decoration. He made small sounds to show he was listening and hoped that it would do. He waited patiently for the intern to hang up. Whatever it was, he was sure it wasn't too terribly important.

Evan and Tyler pulled up to the Marsh perhaps seconds after Smitty had left. Evan hunted down his small intern for a solid ten minutes but found no sight of the boy. This was why he never got interns. They were useless apparently. He hoped that the boy had at least told one other person about what it was that he'd found. But that didn't seem to be the case either as Craig was as silent as the grave when asked about Smitty and Brock said he hadn't heard from Smitty in a while. 

Evan made it a mental note to fire the intern the next time he saw him. What a waste of time. He wandered down to his office where he'd last left Smitty to work on the cameras. He stared at his computer screen and frowned. Everything looked as it should. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary or that wasn't reported in the case file. 

Great, not only was his intern ditching his responsibilities like a high school student, but he was also reporting false findings. “Top of his class my ass,” Evan grumbled. He took a seat, now mentally exhausted and sick of everything. This case was already solved. There was next to no point in even caring anymore. They had the bastard. They were just waiting for a court date. 

He messaged his temples and sighed heavily. His eye caught the scribbles of notes that definitely weren't his. He sat up and pulled the legal note pad over. Smitty’s terrible handwriting covered the entire thing. Time stamps and small things he found. He'd been taking notes, and rather well. He had labeled each page with a camera. There was a pattern. In perhaps a hundredth of the time it took Smitty to realize the issue, Evan had caught it too. Maybe this intern wasn't as terrible as he thought.

He rushed from his office in a blur of movement. They needed to know what happened at time of death. These cameras were supposed to be that window of truth, undeniable, irreversible, truth! What happened within that time stamp could very easily be what gave the jury reasonable doubt. Max. He needed to find the camera man.

Tyler readily supplied the ride to the small security shoppe. Said ride was one straight out of an action movie as it was dangerous as all hell and in no way shape or form legal what Tyler called his driving. But they both got there and in one piece. No one was hurt. So there was that. 

Anyhow, Max’s shoppe was a small one located on the outskirts of town. It was run down and clearly struggling financially. Yet Max had on his best smile and welcomed the two agents warmly. Tyler had to admit it, he liked this guy. He didn't like many guys, but he liked this one. 

“What can I do ya for? You get those cameras up and running? They're a pice of shit, I know.” He set down the stack of boxes he'd been carrying and moved to stand before them, hoping to be as much of a help as he could. 

Evan frowned at the mentioned cameras. They've been nothing but trouble. He made a mental note not to get his security camera work done by this company. 

“Yeah we have a bit of an issue. The cameras all-”

“Stop recording at three am? Yeah. I know. It's a glitch in their software. I can fix it, but that’ll only let the cameras start recording the way they should, I can't get back any missed footage.”

Tyler didn't want to interrogate this guy. Hes been nothing but a big help this entire time. But the words fell from his mouth with out permission. As if he'd been possessed, or worse, as if it were second nature. He hated himself for it as he slowly became more accusing than he intended.

“So if you knew, then why didn't you fix them?”

Max laughed. It alarmed the two investigators. Max quickly tried to stop himself from laughing.

“Sorry. It's just- I mean no offense but Adam wasn't the most reliable with his payments. He cheaped out on me, so I cheaped out on him. An eye for an eye.”

“Is that illegal? I'm pretty sure that's illegal,” Tyler mumbled. Evan waved off Tyler’s concern. Not important at the second. 

“Do you do this with all your costomers?”

“No. Just the ones who decide to fuck me over. Like Tom Syndicate. He tried to cancel his subscription after he'd gotten everything he needed. So the camera outside his porch doesn't record a thing.”

Shit. Evan was watching, figuratively, his evidence fall down the drain and it really wasn't looking good for this Tom guy.

“Did he know?”

“Oh, hell yeah he knew. He tried to start with me. Threatened court, a law suite. But he canceled his subscription so I wasn't in contract with him anymore.”

That did it. There was nothing to save Tom. Guilt was all that the evidence proved. He'd worry about this faulty camera man later. As far as he was concerned, that was buisness. He wasn't here for business. He was here for a murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one. I know. I'm sorry.


	10. Ten

The office lights flickered to life. An annoying yellow and orange glow illuminated everything. Nothing had been touched. Everything was just how they'd left it. 

It was like getting home after a long day of work. Walking through those doors was the most refreshing feeling in the world. And everything you knew and loved was all right there before you. Only this wasn't home, Luke and Brock hated their shared office, and the the things they loved and held dear were on two legs walking around somewhere (they hoped). 

The sight of their office wasn't a relief. It was a reminder. And they were getting rather sick of it. Maybe they could rearrange a few things and freshen it up again, give it a new life. But that took work and they just didn't have the energy anymore. 

Luke took a seat in the closest chair and wheeled his way over to his computer. It started up with a sad whirring sound. He'd had fun at the shooting range. It was good to get out. But now he had to prove their findings mathematically so that they could use it in court. 

His ears were still ringing and his arm stung like a mother fucker. He was going to treat himself when he got home. Take a shower that's probably too hot to be healthy. Maybe get some coffee. With any luck, he'd even get to start on a new sculpture. His wires just came in the other day and he's been eager to get his hands on them. 

His mind drifted away from anything work related and settled instead on the possibilities of tonight. He could finally break out his soldering tools again. He'd been itching to try and make an owl sculpture for Evan. With the wires, he finally had all of the needed materials for it. Maybe an owl sculpture could persuade Evan into traveling with him. 

For a while, he had been lost within his own happy little day dreams, he'd been hearing this soft kind of sound. It didn't bother him at first, but it was this relentless thing that wouldn't go away. It was only after he returned from his dreams that he realized it was Brock going over what all Smitty had found in the videos. 

Luke had been told, also by Brock, that the intern had called earlier. Brock had been unable to understand a word of what the boy had said and wanted to check things out for himself, maybe get ready to answer a few questions when he saw the intern again. Apparently Craig had sent him away to retrieve ice mix. Normally this wouldn't be an issue, however Brock kinda wanted to know what Smitty had called him for. 

Now he was trying to recap Smitty’s notes to Luke, who'd missed a vast majority of them. It made Luke groan a little. This new intern sure did like to take a lot of notably useless notes. Maybe they weren't useless, maybe if he'd listened to them from the beginning, they'd mean something, but out of context, they were useless.

Brock shut up just as Luke started listening, an annoying little habit that they both shared. Luke stared at Brock for a second hoping that Brock would get the unspoken hint and repeat the main idea of his previous babblings. Brock, however, was staring at the computer screen, rewinding the footage Smitty had marked as odd. 

Luke fidgeted in his seat. He could go back to daydreaming, but something told him that Brock had just assigned him some work. 

“So, not to say that I wasn't listening to you, but I wasn't listening to you. What's up?” He hated how rude that sounded. If he could go back and change it, he would, but he can't because he's not god. At least, he didn't think he was god. But who really knows?

Brock rolled his eyes a tad. He kept his annoyed comment to himself fully aware of the fact that he did this to Luke too and fully deserved it. He handed over Smitty’s many, many, many notes. The kid’s sloppy handwriting made it rather difficult to read. Luke stared at it before looking back at Brock hoping for something more than just that. At this point, he'd take anything. A word, a picture, a cat hair, anything!

“Smitty says that for the most part things appeared normal. Until 8pm when all of the cameras stopped recording. They continued recording at 3am. He says he never saw Anthony or Steven arrive at Adam’s house.”

Luke wheeled himself over to Brock’s computer. He took the mouse from his coworker and rewound the footage to see for himself. Sure enough, the recording stops. The house looks just fine. Adam alive and well, aside from a full body sun burn. Then the next second, the house is riddled with bullet holes and the two know that Steve and Anthony are no more with Adam soon to follow.

Luke frowned. That didn't seem like the best security camera a millionaire could buy. Then again, most of Adam’s shit wasn't top tier. He bought the value brand cereals instead of the real deal. He was such a cheap ass hole. But still! Adam knew better than to cheap out on certain things. Like his car. Security sounded pretty damn important.

“Why does it do that? Is it for just this camera or all of them?”

“I don't know, Evan’s trying to get that sorted as we speak. And all cameras do this.”

“Can we compare it to Tom’s?”

“No.”

“Why not?

“Tom’s cameras never recorded a thing. They were just for show.”

Luke leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. What good were security cameras if they didn't do their damn jobs? For show. 

“Then they're useless to us. Great. Fuckin’ great.” He sprung from his seat and dragged it back over to his station. Brock let out an unhappy groan of his own.

“I don't know what to do, Luke.”

“There's not much we can do. We wait for Evan to see if he can get this sorted. We wait for Tyler to see if they can find the murder sight. We wait.”

Brock watched Luke sadly. Waiting happened to be a large portion of their jobs. They were always waiting for something. More often than not, it was for the warrants. And after that it was the court dates. But it made them feel useless and unproductive. Especially knowing that a murderous ass hat was still out there. 

“What can we do? You said there wasn't much, so what can we do?”

“We can pass the time.”

Luke couldn't deny how overjoyed he was when he'd been paired with Brock. He enjoyed the other man’s company. Compared to the others, he was quiet and gentle, and his jokes were terrible but they still made him laugh. It was at times such as these that he was reminded of that joy. Had he'd been with anyone else at this second, he would have said nothing. But this was Brock. Brock was that one friend who would watch a show that meant the world to you, but not to him, so he could talk about it with you just to see you happy. You would very rarely ever meat anyone quite like Brock.

“What's new in your life?” Luke could physically feel his annoyance drain when he saw Brock’s face light up after a second of thought. Brock sat at the end of his chair and leaned forward a bit. He glanced towards the door to ensure that it was closed and no one was within ear shot.

“Marcel’s been planning this big date night. He's ordered us both suites. He had reservations made. And I've never seen his bank account so low. I think he's getting ready to propose. Which is great but it also sucks because that means I have to step up my proposal game. I already bought the ring.”

Luke couldn't stop the happy scream that erupted from his throat. Brock brought a finger to his lips and tried to shush his friend through his giggles. 

“It's about goddamn time! God that-! You-! Finally!” Words refused to settle on how to fully express the emotions running through Luke’s head. So he gave up trying. A goofy smile, wide and full of teeth, was all he could say. Brock’s face was turning an adorable shade of pink. He sank back into his seat. He never was the one who was often basked in so much attention. This astounded Luke, as how could anyone ignore or forget such a sweet man? 

Nevertheless, Brock quickly changed the subject, as was his way. He just wanted his cheeks to return to their usual pigment and for his heart to once again settle.

“How are things in your married life? Everything still peaches and sunny skies?”

Luke made a small sound of disgust and stuck his tongue out as if to get the phantom taste away from him.

“God, I hate peaches. But yeah. I guess you could say that.”

Now, Brock, having grown up the quiet one of the bunch trained to listen and never speak, knew Luke and his word choices. He knew what words Luke would use to convey certain emotions, and everyone does this and normally they are completely unaware of it, he knew Luke the best. He was perhaps the most careless. 

For example, when people use the choice of words such as “I guess” that usually entails that they are uncertain. But here, when used by Luke and in this context, it means the very opposite of what had just been said. Luke never guessed. He, much like his husband, was always dead certain. Luke never guessed with anything. Not with the weather, nor with what he wanted for dinner. He knew what the weather was, he knew he wanted that honey fried chicken. And he knew that things weren't still, as Brock had put it, “peaches and sunshine.” Though he'd much rather pretend it were.

Brock, for the time being, forgot of his undeniable fit of happiness that had overcame him only seconds before. His friend was in the need of counseling. He sat up, attentive and ready to listen. This, of course was Luke and he would need some prodding. A part of him felt ridiculous and used and he wondered for a brief and fickle moment of this was what Ohm felt every time he had a client.

“What's happened?”

“We got into a… I wouldn't call it a fight because it wasn't one. Disagreement at best. At probably the worst time.”

Brock looked at the given information the way English teachers look at a simple passage and find ten thousand symbols and “literary devices”. He wasn't afraid to admit that he didn't have enough to work with. So to get that message across, he looked up at Luke with an eyebrow cocked and an understanding expression. 

Luke huffed. He tried to organize his thoughts in a way that he could say them without giving up too much information and yet still supply his friend with what he needed.

“We uh… I brought up traveling.”

Stop. Now, an average person looking in on this conversation alone, without any prior knowledge into this man’s life (or the life of the shy one currently with him) wouldn't fully understand nor appreciate just how much travel meant to Luke. That said, the amazing part of this strange form of entertainment can inform you that Luke has always hated staying in one spot. 

It was his life’s goal to travel to at a minimum six countries overseas. And five in South America. His parents loved traveling. They'd often take off for weeks at a time and they'd always return with these daring stories and wondrous adventures. They had this family tradition. They'd play a time capsule scavenger hunt.

The rules were simple, the parents would travel the world and in each country, at a significant spot, they'd leave behind a memory. Often buried. They'd write down its location in the form of a short story in a large and thick lineless book. When the parents passed away, the children, or child, would have to find them all, collecting their parent’s life story as they went along, and leaving behind their own for their future children to discover.

Just last year Luke’s father had passed due to a heart attack. Not long after, his mother followed having broken a hip falling in the shower. The surgery got infected and she died. Luke wanted nothing more than to collect the pieces of his parents left behind. He wanted nothing more than leave behind his own. He wanted nothing more than to include Evan in this important part of his life. 

He's never told anyone. He likes to hide his desires behind the pursuit of art and freedom. Of course, at the time he'd first started saying he wanted to travel for art, he hated the subject deeming himself too uncreative. So he took up welding and soldering. He made metal sculptures out of whatever he could find in a junk yard. Now it was second nature to him to spit out a “random” country and insist he wanted to go for the view and for the growth of his artistic abilities.

No one besides Luke could have possibly known that. Not even Brock, who felt much like an outside observer listening in on only this conversation, not knowing enough about this man. 

“Where do you want to go?”

“Greece.” That was first on the list. His parents mentioned a lovely spa besides a run down highway where they'd gotten stranded on the side of. A flat tire. This was where they'd met Luke’s god father, who also was no longer around. He'd been a kind and friendly trucker who barely spoke English. There, he'd find his next clue.

“Greece? Why Greece?”

“It's pretty. It's the perfect place to inspire an artist such as myself.”

“But is so financially unstable.”

“Brock, so is half of America. I want to go to Greece.”

Brock was quiet a second. Talking to people was like playing a dating simulator almost. You had an NPC (literally everyone else in your life) and they'd talk to you. Afterwards, you'd often be given little things you could say. Brock could say, “yeah, man, go for it” he could also say, “nah, man, not worth it” or he could say, “I cried this morning because I ran over a lizard. I named him Larry and buried him next to the tulips. Don't tell Marcel.”

He of course said none of this. He chose to remain silent, another option and one he liked best. He waited for Luke to keep talking.

“Evan doesn't want to go. I don't entirely blame him either. He hates change. But I need it.”

Brock thought to Marcel. There was much to a working relationship. Sacrifices, while unwanted, happened to be part of those. Brock had sacrificed his gag reflex. Marcel sacrificed his blankets every night. Those were little sacrifices. Sometimes, there must be big sacrifices. Brock had sacrificed the possibility of getting Marcel that car for a ring instead. Marcel had sacrificed an important job offer to stay with Brock. This little fact, Brock was completely in the dark about. 

“You love Evan don't you?”

“I married him, so I hope so.” Ah, thought Brock, that’s Luke talk for definitely.

“Would you really leave him behind?”

That was a stab to Luke. He wasn't sure what got stabbed, probably some emotion or pride nerve. But it was stabbed and now it was bleeding and it hurt. 

He could never leave Evan behind. Evan was his world. Evan was his story. To leave Evan behind would be like to cut himself in half, diagonally for those visual thinkers, and try to live a happy life without it. He wouldn't be able to function. 

“Are you willing to sacrifice your relationship just to travel?”

Another stab. If this kept up, he'd die, he was sure if it! Maybe he should have talked to Ohm. Unlike Brock, Ohm didn't have this brutal reality talk. Especially with a client. He let them do the self discovering, all he did was offer some small suggestions that often times the clients think they thought of themselves. But Luke needed Brock’s words. He needed advice and help from a man who had a strong understanding of Evan and his crazy mind. Who better than Evan’s oldest and closest friend? Still, this conversation hurt.

“If you leave, you know that he'll stay. And you'll break his heart. And I assume that will break yours.”

Luke was still. His eyes watched the floor. It wasn't doing anything because it was a floor. But he still watched it. Just in case. Actually, he just didn't want to look Brock in the eye. Brock, on the other hand, needed Luke to listen, and listen well.

“Luke?” The man looked up. He looked like a stabbed puppy. It was alarming and almost threw Brock entirely off of his train of thought. Almost. 

“Sometimes, love requires a sacrifice. I'm not asking you to throw a virgin into a volcano. I'm pretty sure that's illegal. But maybe consider staying. For Evan. Maybe when he's ready, you can go to Greece.”

Luke was as still as a statue. He stared at Brock, which made the smaller man slightly uncomfortable. He then smiled and leaned back. A wave of relief carried him away from the pain of Brock’s previous questions.

“Thanks. I needed to hear that.” 

Brock nodded. That was his job. Not really, his job was to reconstruct murder scenes. Cause that's a totally normal job to want let alone have. But he was always there to listen to another’s problem and help out in whatever way he could. Except for Tyler. Tyler wouldn't listen to him. Stubborn headed shit. 

He turned away from Luke with a happy sigh. Maybe after this, he'd see himself down to the cafeteria and sneak himself one of those super stale doughnuts as a treat that'd he'd regret later. Yeah. That sounded like a good bad idea. 

He resumed watching through the provided tapes fully aware that there was nothing left to get from them, but wanting to look like he was still working. Just in case. He stopped. He paused the video and leaned close to the screen. In a quick couple of clicks, he'd zoomed in. A smile cracked his face. Luke grinned. He knew that look. That was a good sign.

“What did you find?”

The solution to all of our problems.”

Brock turned the monitor to face his friend. He was right. They no longer had to work with these notably shit cameras. They had a better one.


	11. Eleven

Luke squinted at the screen. The image was blurry but he could still see it. Off in the background just beyond the fences. The intersection. It's light's changing color every now and again and an unseen car passing beneath it. 

“Isn't that-?”

“The one that Tyler keeps getting ticketed for his U turns? Yes. Yes it is.”

Luke turned his full attention towards his own computer. 

Luke didn't believe in miracles. He believed that everything was this giant system of chance. You could always, always always always, mathematically figure out the possibility of something. When he'd attended college, he had the intentions to major in math, believe it or not. And it had helped him greatly in Vegas. Point of the matter is, he could sit with a calculator in hand, and a notepad and pencil in the other, and never have been able to solve for the probability of this find being of some use for them. That would require a miracle. 

Sure enough, that traffic camera was in prime condition. It took pictures of the cars caught running the red lights. Tyler hated that camera because “it always goes after me! Why me? Marcel ran the light too, what the fuck?” A quote Luke had embedded into the very networking of his brain. He wound back the hands of time and found their murder night. It had taken only twentysix pictures that day. That in itself was impressive. But Luke didn't care about the low run count, he cared if Adam’s kidnapper, and murderer, was one of those who ran the light. 

He could see Adam’s driveway from the camera. At eight, his cameras stopped recording, and a small minivan ran the light. His driveway was empty of any visiting cars. At eight thirty two, a motorcycle ran the light. One of Adam’s cars was missing. At eight forty six, a Mini Cooper ran the light and Adam’s car was back. He could just barely make out three figures standing besides it. No doubt, they were Adam, Anthony, and Steven. 

At nine thirteen, a brown and heavily banged up SUV ran the light. Everything was normal. And everything remained normal until one o-eight in the morning when a Lamborghini ran the light. Trailing behind it, maybe three blocks down, was a rather familiar car.

Luke zoomed in and pushed the screen around so that Brock could see it. Brock glanced up, quite familiar to the sound of the groaning rubber mat that their computers rested upon. He squinted at the screen.

“Can you run that plate?”

Brock said it a word as he copied down the license plate number and set to work. With a flash of his fingers, he had it in no time. Luke smiled.

“Well, Tyler’s going to be pleased with this. It's Tom’s car.”

Marcel have a sweet little knock on their glass office door before letting himself in. He set down a small collection of files he'd been carrying, none of which looked work related. Once he was certain both men were paying attention, he took over Brock’s computer. 

“Tom has a lawyer with him now. Tyler’s got two agents in with him trying to get a confession. But Ohm made a good point-” he pulled up his email and highlighted a few sentences, “-about the high chances of Tom having an upset business partner.”

Before their eyes now sat a complete analysis of Tom, his business, and if Adam. Beneath all of that was a grand museum of Tom’s financial records. Profits were through the roof. It made Luke ponder upon quitting this job and start selling guns illegally. But that was besides the point. Tom never kept all of the profits. It appeared to be that he lost half of them. 

“Holy shit. So he does have a business partner.”

“Who?”

Marcel sighed and quickly signed out of his email. He'd learned the hard way what would happen if he didn't. Never again would there be another “bring your neighbor to work day” fiasco. He collected his papers into one hand and used the other to toss over a small and poorly designed business card.

“This is all we have right now.” 

Brock moved so that Luke could see the cars too. It was small, as all business cards usually are. It was a simple eggshell White with rather ordinary black text that simply read “S&G’s SMGs and Ammo” followed by a phone number and email address. 

“Who makes business cards for their illegal gun company?” Brock shrugged and quickly ran the email address through the system. 

As far as miracles go, this one was fairly discrete in its ways. Just as it was a miracle that Max and Ohm had managed to bump into each other at Momed.

The office had been stuffy and his eyes felt like bleeding after staring at so many files. His finger tips ached from his feverish typings. He needed caffeine and maybe something quick to eat. 

He half wished he'd taken up Tyler’s offer earlier. But he'd been knee deep in work and he refused to break until he'd had enough to show for it. And now that he had, he figured he'd earned a nice club sandwich. 

He sat at the small bar. He liked to sit there when Bobby was working. Bobby was good people. He was funny, sarcastic, and loved making fun of his wife, who happened to be the manager of the establishment. The seats besides him were empty of life. It was past lunch hour and the place was mostly vacant. A young gentleman quickly took one of the many empty seats besides him.

Ohm didn't pay him much mind. He'd never met the man before and planned to keep it that way. He waited patiently for Bobby and just hoped that the stranger would try talking to him.

“Hey, do you by any chance have change for a five?”

Shit, Ohm thought, this is the exact opposite of what I wanted. Regardless, he hummed a small yeah and pulled out his wallet. He fumbled around for a it until he managed to free his singles. The man smiled.

“What's that badge for?”

Ohm glanced down at said badge and found his thoughts all stop. He glanced at the stranger and couldn't help but stare a little. He was a genuinely pretty man. 

“I uh, work. It's for work.” He felt dumb. He wanted to get up and leave before he embarrassed himself. He watched Bobby anxiously. Maybe he could be saved!

“I've never seen a man get so flustered before, it's adorable,” Max commented. Ohm felt his own cheeks burn a bright pink. At this point he wanted to call Tyler. He wasn't sure why. But every voice in his head was begging him to. 

“I’m Max.” he extended a hand for Ohm to take, which he mindlessly did. 

You can tell a lot from a person just by shaking their hand. For example, just the other week Ohm had met his new neighbors, a pair of brothers from a nearby college. One shook Ohm’s hand quite firmly, it left a bruise. The other was a noodle. He could tell just by that hand shake alone that the first one was going to be the troublemaker and the second one was a bitch. 

That said, he took Max’s hand in his and was waiting quite eagerly to learn about the kind of character Max was. He shook firmly, but was oddly gentle, and kept it short and sweet. He was a gentleman, Ohm decided. He liked him a lot. His little heart fluttered a bit inside his chest. It scared him.

“Do you have a name, or do you want me to give one to you?”

“Ryan,” he answered quickly. The blush on his cheeks deepened in tone and he wanted to sink into the bar stool. 

Max had long ago taken notice of the bashful man. Long, long ago. When Evan had escorted him to the Marsh, Agent Tyler had been with them. He'd seen Ohm’s face in Tyler’s car, in the sunglasses compartment. He wondered for a while then if the two were an item. He hoped not. Truth be told, this Ryan guy was cute. Especially blushing the way that he was. Max thought that he just might wanna take that little blush home and have it in his-

“Ohm boy! Maggie burned the entire sandwich again but here ya go,” Bobby shouted. He placed the plate down. He turned just in time for a spoon to fly from the kitchen and hit him between his eyes. A woman was screaming in Spanish, interrupting herself with laughter between her shouts. Bobby grinned and shouted back, but in English. 

Ohm picked at the blackened sandwich. He shook his head with a soft laugh, “How do you burn an entire sandwich?”

“Talent,” Max states matter-o-factly. He straightened out his shirt and tried his damned to try and appear to look cool, and was purposely failing. “Why, just the other day I burnt water.”

As much as I'd love to go on with how Ohm’s date went, I must now use the phrase “back at the barn” which doesn't mean a barn at all, but the Marsh.

Smitty returned quickly. He was fuming with anger. Six large bags of ice were being carried. He kicked open doors, lacking the hands to do otherwise. He marched across the lab until he reached Craig’s office, a room filled with plants and caged insects. Craig had been showing Marcel some of his findings with the fabrics of the car. Smitty dropped the bags of ice, making sure to make a dramatic show of it.

“Ice,” he bitched. He then turned on his heel and began to thunder off but was stopped before he could get far.

“Young Mr. Smitty, what on earth is the meaning of this?” Marcel held up a hand to keep Craig quiet. He watched the intern carefully. Smitty sighed heavily and returned to his previous spot.

“I'm following my really disruptive orders, sir. Craig had requested I fetch him ice mix, which I'm sure you already know doesn't exist, and he warmed me not to come back empty handed. If he wants ice then he shall have ice.” 

Marcel side eyes Craig who shrank beneath his gaze. He turned his attention back to his legal pad and frowned. 

“I've several complaints here against you, Smitty.” 

The intern slowly began to turn red with anger. His mom was right. He never stood a chance here. But he thought he'd crack under the job’s pressure, not because of the jerks he had to work with. He willed himself to calm down. He knew that after what ever Marcel had to say, he'd be packing up his stuff and leaving. It's it good to drive while upset.

“Evan reports unsatisfactory work. Several people have reported seeing you dumping water into the drinking fountains and sweeping the parking lot. Is this job all fun and games to you, Smitty?”

He shook his head. Have you ever felt so stressed that you could feel the weight of the world on your exhausted shoulders? He did too. The dam of tears he’d this long kept at bay didn't seem like it was going to hold out for long. He hoped that this scolding, and firing, would get done quickly so that he'd at least be able to leave with his dignity. 

“Mr. Smitty, I must ask you to-”

“Marcel, don't be a dick! It was my fault, I told him to,” Craig interrupted. The entire time this had been unfolding, the angel of guilt had fallen from heaven and had doomed him into a pit of her magic. He wanted to puke when he saw just how destroyed Smitty looked. 

“Craig, I appreciate your trying to help him, but I cannot change the facts here. He's been the most unproductive intern the Marsh has ever seen.”

“Because I made him do a whole bunch of bullshit chores!” Marcel again held up his hand to silence Craig. 

This, he thought, was going to be an excellent lesson. He doubted that Craig would ever force an intern to do these stupid tasks again after this. He hoped that by showing him the reality of things would serve to be a good wake up call. It pleased him greatly when Craig began to look just as upset as Smitty.

“The rules are the rules, Craig. You should have known this. Now, Smitty, please go gather your things-”

“If you fire him, you have to fire me too, Marcel.”

Craig had blurred it out without hesitation or thought. It was only after he'd said it that he realized how much he meant it. He stared Marcel in the eye just to prove it. Marcel acknowledged the challenge and did his best to hide his grin. This was better than he thought. 

“Consider it done.”

“What?”

Marcel was celebrating in his head. Craig was going to learn and he was going to learn the hard way. After people learn the hard way, they are far less as likely to repeat the stupid shit that got them into trouble to begin with. 

“Thompson, Smitty, pack up your things. Your fired.”

He then saw himself out. Once he was past the two, he let his smile shine through. He couldn't be happier. Most of the time, he hated Ohm’s advice for dealing his his crew, but every now and again it worked out perfectly. He'd have to thank Ohm some time. 

Craig watched his boss flee and turned to Smitty with a broken hearted look. He felt like the asshat kid in school who kept picking on the quiet kid till he got suspended. He looked at the bags of ice and smiled softly.

“You did good, kid. I'm sorry.”

Smitty wanted to scream at Craig. He sighed aloud and turned on his heel. His parents weren't going to be pleased. Craig groaned aloud. He glanced around his office. It was his home, almost. It had his toys, his friends, his incubators, his life! It was a physical embodiment of his mind. He loved it. 

Smitty walked into Luke and Brock’s office, where he'd been assigned originally. The two glanced up at him, both very much confused. Brock shot up from his seat upon remembering what he'd found no thanks to Smitty.

“Hey! We need a new pair of eyes, do you mind-?” He grabbed Smitty by the arm and pulled him over to the computers. Smitty protested lightly, not really in the mood for this. Brock sat Smitty down and pulled up the traffic light. 

“This is all we can use to track Adam and what not. Now, here, we see Tom’s car and not much of it. We can't see through the tinted windows if it's Tom or not. That's not the point. We need to track it. But it doesn't break any traffic laws. This is all we see of it.”

Smitty stared at the screen and sighed. He might as well help finish the case he'd been given.

“What stores are nearby?”

“What?” Luke had heard a lot of crazy things. His best friend happened to be Jon, that was just a given. But this was out of the blue even in his standards. 

“Like a gas station, or something.”

Brock scanned the area quickly, “Yeah, there's a Jenny’s Market about a block north and a Shells six blocks west. Why?”

“Check their cameras. Gas stations in rich neighborhoods usually have ATMs. Those ATMs have cameras to catch robbers, right? They face the gas pumps and streets so that they can tag the license plates. And they record all day and all night. Use those.” He plucked himself from the chair and headed over to his small corner. He didn't have much, a hat, a mandatory lab coat that he had to buy, and his text books he rough incase things got slow. He still had to pass his classes after all. He could easily gather everything up in his own two arms. 

The two others watched him. This was new. 

“They finally moving you? Are you going to be one of the nerds now?”

“What?”

“A nerd. You know. Tyler calls us who work in the offices nerds. The agents are jocks. Jon and Evan, who get to work the field sometimes along with Craig, are all preps,” Brock quickly informed. He'd had to sit and listen to Tyler drunkenly explain exactly who was what and why for hours. Twice. He almost had the damn speech memorized. 

Smitty shook his head, “No, I got fired today.”

“Fired? Damn. You've only been here for a couple of days. What did you do?”

Luke could easily forget about the task at hand, what with the whole catching the murderer of his acquaintances and what not. Smitty was about to tell what he hoped would be a very interesting story.

“I bought six bags of ice to prove a point. Marcel didn't like that.”

Luke frowned. That was hardly a story at all. He turned, in as dramatic a fashion as he could muster, to show just how displeased he was with the now no longer intern. He had a murderer to catch anyways.

“That's ridiculous. You've done outstanding work. Six bags of ice isn't a reason to fire someone. Unless you Three it at someone.” Brock quickly fled from the room. And just like that, Luke’s curiosity was spurred alive once more!

“Where are you going?”

“To yell at my boyfriend.”

“Ok. Hey, uh...Schmit, sit down. He’ll be back with good news. Now tell me, what were you doing with six bags of ice?”

It hasn't taken much time for Ohm to slowly emerge from his shell around Max. He was funny and considerate and a really decent guy. He even offered to pay for Ohm’s lunch, which he refused simply because he got a discount and gas points. Ohm was really hoping that he'd be able to see Max around some more. And his hopes were only inspired when Max left him with his phone number, name, and a kissy face drawn beneath it. A date! Ohm had a date! He was so excited.

He watched Max go with his heart in his throat. Bobby grinned upon seeing, and recognizing, the look plastered on Ohm’s face. 

“Awe, you have a crush. That's adorable. You're too old to act like a highschool girl, Ryan. Imma tell Tyler-”

“That might not be the best idea. He's weirdly protective. He'll do a background check and put a private investigator on him and-” he glanced down at the phone number on the napkin. His voice died then and there. 

Luke, after a bit of a struggle, he managed to gain access to the Shells cameras. Finally he had something to do. He watched through the feed, focusing on nine and after. He found something. The car. It drove towards Adam’s house at 12:59. It returned at 1:23.

Luke flew from his desk with a cheer! They finally, finally, had a way to calculate time of death. Smitty walked over, still anxiously waiting for Brock’s return.

“We can follow that car now.”

“What? How?”

“Like this, camera hopping. We know what street that is, so find other cameras and follow the car.”

He took the mouse from Luke’s hand and began searching for other gas stations and other accessible cameras. It was a struggle and he often lost the car, but he'd done it. He'd tracked the car from the main highway, thanks given to the toll lanes, to the beach where Adam’s body had been found. They last saw it heading towards a small boat house besides the fishing deck.

“Well I’ll be damned. You just found the murder sight. If Marcel fires you now, we can't use any of this in court.”

“Well then it's a good thing I'm not actually firing you, isn't it, Mr. Smitty.”

Marcel walked into the room followed by a very angry Brock. He smiled at Luke and turned his full attention towards Smitty.

“I'm glad these two stopped you from walking out. I couldn't find you after Craig’s. I never intended to fire you, Mr. Smitty, I simply wanted to scare Craig. And you I guess. No more pranks. No more ice runs. Just your continued excellent work. Welcome back, Mr. Smitty.”

Luke slugged the intern playfully on the shoulder, “See? What did I say? Good news.”

“Bad news actually,” Marcel interjected quickly. He handed Luke a document for him to read through.

“Tom Confessed? Shouldn't this be good news?”

“Maybe, if he was actually the killer.”

“And you don't think he is?”

“I know he isn't. Now, I have to go and rehire Craig. He and Jon have a field trip to go on.”

And with that, he turned and left, with Brock still on his heels. Smitty smiled. After this, he was going to drink. Agenaplropriate drinks though because he was still under aged. Maybe some black coffee would do the trick. Yeah. No. That just sounded nasty. He'd just settle for Cool-Aide instead. Cause he's a man. And men drink Cool-Aide.


	12. Twelve

Jon hated Craig’s car. It smelled funny, the food trash was suffocating, the breaks were too sensitive and the seat belts were worse. He was too short for the sun visors to work. And in top of all of that, the engine light was on it was always on. It was a health code violation. It had to be. He couldn't possibly imagine how this car had managed to pass the mandatory inspections for so many years. 

That said, he'd happily get a ride from Tyler, as chaotic and evil as his driving was, than get one from Craig. Sadly, he didn't exactly have much of a choice, as he lacked a car completely. 

The entire ride was painful. The leather seats burned his ass though his pants. The sun had left a permanent dot in the middle of his vision. He had a lovely rash roughly the size of Canada on his neck from the constant jerking of the seat belt. And what was worse? Craig was blasting country music. Not because he liked it, but because he knew that Jon hated it. If ever there was a man that Jon would want to murder, it would be this car. Not Craig, God no, Craig was a doll at times. Now just wasn't one of those times. 

Tyler had already sent out a team to the boat house. They hadn't arrived yet, as the beuruea was farther than the Marsh was. And Craig was speeding. 

Jon hopped out of the car the second it came to a partial stop. He then promptly became sick off to the side. He kicked sand to cover the mess and pretended it never happened. He turned to the boat house. No tape, no people, nothing occupied it, as far as they could tell. 

A toxic smell floated through the sweet and gentle breeze. Jon instantly gagged at the awful sensation. But Craig welcomed it. He rushed to get at the cause. Jon, with much disgust and hesitation, followed after him. 

The boathouse was a small shed like building with one small and dust painted window that faced the sea. Cobwebs and hornet nests battled for territory along the ceiling. Tool shelves lined the walls. All of which were cluttered with a great variety of objects. There was a bucket of fish scales resting on its side near the door, the most probable cause for the smell. There was no need to mention the copious amounts of blood. Blood is blood, from most animals. It looks the same under a UV light, making poor Jon feel sad and useless. He'd really been hoping to be the one to say, “Yeah, that's Adam’s blood alright.” All cool like in the movies. But there was no way to tell without DNA testing, and that could take hours-days even. 

Jon decided to entertain himself with the abandoned fish carcasesninstead. Their little bodies lay in mounds in the far corners of the room. They'd all decomposed to show nothing but a small collection of bone. He wanted nothing more than to sort and label them, as if he was just having fun instead of working a case. Maybe with luck, he'd find the missing Skull fragments. 

Craig turned his full attention to the tools. Oh how they smelled! It couldn't possibly be all from fish guts. He slapped on his mandatory rubber gloves and all too eagerly got digging. Not literally though, figuratively. Though if he did want to actually dig, there was a rusted shovel just outside leaning against the western wall. 

He started by taking photos of everything. The team would need that later for court reasons. He'd have to wait for the team to arrive so that he could number everything and bag it all. For now, he technically wasn't allowed to touch anything. But oh how he wanted to. 

Jonathan didn't care much. He had already put on his own blue rubber gloves and was digging around in the bones. No one would stop him either. Getting between Jonathan and his work was like stabbing an already angry bear. Everyone knew better. Everyone. He had his little magnifying goggles secured tight around his head, the little lenses inside were tinkered with so that he could see the tiny little grooves of the saw used to cut the flesh from the fish. With some luck and a little patience, he'd find the skull fragments.

Tyler’s team showed up barely five minutes later. They ran through the tiny little shed with their tape, photos, and small number cards that the wind kept trying to steal. Once they'd done their job, Craig set to work. He grabbed at every instrement within his reach. 

He instantly went for the rusted pipe. Adam had been beaten, he knew that much. At this point, he just needed to find any and all possible weapons. Chances were, the son of a bitch left behind a finger print or two, maybe a whole hand print if they were lucky. Murderers driven by rage like this, while orgonized, are rarely ever that smart. He dusted quickly, coating almost every inch of the pipe in white powder. Nothing. He set it aside and moved on.

“What did the weapon’s imprints look like? That- that was a terrible way to phrase that question. Let me try that again. What shape did the imprints make? Wow. That really wasn't any better. You get the idea, right, Jon?” No answer came to Craig who was eyeing the blunt end of an abandoned boat motor that was in great disrepair. Maybe the killer could have smashed Adam’s face against that! His thoughts were torn from him when he realized that Jon had still yet to answer him.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“What kind of weapon am I looking for?”

“Oh. Oh, uh… Brock and Luke both agreed it was squarish, with points or something. I don't know.” He did know, he just couldn't get his own thoughts together. How could he when they were far more occupied with the pile of bones literally at his feet. Thus far he'd found Eighteen fish ribs, sixteen raccoon fingers, and a dog bone. No skull fragment. But that didn't worry him. He still had a whole pile to sort through!

“Square? The fuck-?” Craig took a swift glance around the room. Not much for that poorly given description. A picture frame at best. 

“Are we even sure this was where he was killed?” A relatively young agent stepped into view holding up their clipboard. Their hair was tied back in a blue cap and they had little rubber booties covering their shoes. Craig excused the man’s question, simply because he was apparent with his noviance. He answered him with a quick nod or two.

Craig searched for a door handle. Sometimes those were square. Not the handle, but the metal plates they rested on, or wooden if you went to Craig’s house. The door was notably in shambles, it hung by a singular rusted hinge that wouldn't let the poor thing move much. But the handles were entirely intactes and rusted over. There was no possible way that anyone would have removed them. 

There was nothing. Not even the floor boards could be used as a weapon. Then he remembered that he was looking for two strange things. Fish and chicken. What the hell could be found in this shed that handled fish and chicken? He set off looking for a kitchen utensil. A square and metal kitchen utensil. 

Out of the great minds working at both the beruea and the Marsh, it could easily be agreed that Rvan was the most religious out of them all, and he wasn't a die hard religious man either. He simply knew that there was a greater power out there and he'd named it God. Craig didn't believe in god. Not since he was a small child. He thought the idea was sweet and nice, but he'd dedicated himself to science and just couldn't accept the theory without some kind of proof.

Maybe god was real. Maybe he wasn't. Miracles happen, and maybe they don't exist. But what did happen was an unfortunate accident that was a miricale only God could have delivered.

Jonathan had just filled a seventeenth raccoon philange from the pile and had put it aside when the shelf above his head gave out. The tackle box it had been holding fell. Poor Jon never had the chance to do much as think about it when it hat struck him. It’s sharp corner had met right where the hairline met his forehead. A large gash now lay in place of it and Jon now lay on the floor in a fit of pained screams. 

The team stopped dead in its tracks and stared. No one moved. Why no one moved is a psychological phenomenon called the bystander effect. The only one to to anything, really, was none other than Craig. He'd been repeating to himself the requirements for the murder weapon and he'd finally found it!

“A mallet!”

“What? No, it's a god damn tackle box and it tried to kill me! This gif damn boat house is a fucking human slaughter house!” Jon struggled to rip his gloves off his hands. Once one was free, he tentivally brought a delicate finger to the source of the unseen pain and dabbed at it with the pad of his finger tip. He drew it back and frowned at the sight of blood. 

Craig ignored his friend’s shouts and dove towards the fallen tackle box. It's lid had popped open, the rusted lock placed on it had broken, setting everything within its rusted container free! All that had been inside was a bloodied mallet, one that people used to tenderize meats for cooking.

“Who uses a mallet for fish?”

“It was in a tackle box, Craig,” the new agent grumbled. At long last the team had been brought back to life. It wasn't this smooth transition either. Each and every single person started to move in cautious and uncoriographed ways disturbing to the eye of any and all who watched. Like a scene from a horror movie. But they were animate again and that's all that mattered, not how monstrous it appeared. 

A woman pushed past Craig towards Jonathan. She helped him to jos feet and lead him outside to be handed off to the medical team that was mandated to always be with the investigators. Now you can see why. Shit like this had a habit of happening often. Crime scenes are apparently a dangerouse place to play.

A nurse took Jonathan aside to help him. Craig was alone, if you don't include the rest of the team of agents, in the murder house-I mean- boat house. He dusted the handle of the mallet and grinned at the results. Just as he'd suspected, full on hand prints! Now they just needed to either confirm or deny the fact that they belonged to Tom Syndicate. That's the joy of finger and hand prints; they're all purely unique! Not even identical twins have the same prints. This could very possibly be what helps them win the case in court. 

Tyler arrived almost as soon as the nurses had rushed Jon into the ambulance. Their little truck was driving away as his was pulling up. He hopped out his truck, his overcompensating truck, and waltzed into the boat house. A few of the agents quickly gave a brief synopsis of what all they'd found. Craig spontaneously butt in, needing to be the one behind the glory of their perfect finding.

“This is the murder weapon!”

“Craig,” Tyler groaned, “how many times do we have to tell you that we have to test these things before we just blurt them out?”

“No-no-no-no! I'm positive. I'm 317% positive!”

Tyler was slightly taken aback by the oddly specific number given. It was uneven and prime. Two things that Tyler hated when it came to numbers. The math tests still haunted his dreams. He wanted to slap Craig simply for saying such an intolerable number. 

“I want proof-”

“Square, metal, deals with chicken, and because it was in this boat house, it was surrounded by fish huts, giving us the fish. It has a smooth surface and a rough surface with evenly placed-”

Tyler placed a hand over Craig’s mouth with a soft and uncomfortably unsettling shhhh. Craig kept talking despite this, his voice now muffled by the calloused hand over his mouth. Only Craig, Tyler thought to himself, only fucking Craig.

He only released his hand when he was certain that Craig would be silent. And even then he wasn't sure. He wiped his hand off on the new agent’s rubber hair cap, earning him a rather confused reaction. 

“Send it back to the nerd’s club house and get it tested properly, please. There are millions of mallets in the state of California alone.”

“But how many of them are found on the murder sight, with the murderer’s handprints, that matches the victim’s fracture patterns?”

“Good question, Craig. I now want you to be on the hunt for more mallets,” Tyler nagged sarcastically. He'd gotten Craig’s point a while ago. But the courts wouldn't like an experts word. They always looked for proof. And it just so happened that their proof wasn't in the pudding, but in the tackle box. 

Jonathan was certain of two things. Everything was either “dice” or “no dice.” Riding passanger with Craig? No dice. Solving a murder? Dice. Getting hit in the head with a falling tackle box that's secretly holding the possible murder weapon? What...the fuck? 

The doctors were talking to him is nice and low voices, but it was all just white noise to him. No matter how hard he tried to focus on what it was that they were saying, hesimply couldn't make any of it out. He felt as if someone had just stabbed him in the head with a spear and then put him in an oversized laundry machine and set it on the spin cycle. On top of that, it was unbelievably difficult for him to remember things. He wanted to ask the kind nurse who was trying to get him to squeeze his fingers if it was safe for him to sleep that night. But he couldn't remember why he wanted to know. He couldn't remember the nurse’s name, despite the fact that he knew the nurse had told him about six times or so, he forgot how many. And he couldn't remember what he'd been doing before he got hit. 

It was alarming the doctors to find Jonathan unable to squeeze the nurse’s fingers. His delirium wasn't a good sign either. And all of them began to really worry for Jon’s life when he started to sieze. They couldn't do anything to help him either. The good doctor had what they considered “a tier three concision,” which was just a facet way of saying “a serious concussion.” Any bozo who'd ever hit their head before could tell you that. 

Of course, no one would tell the nerds, jocks, or preps anything as of yet. Completely unaware of Jonathan’s probably unstable condition, Tyler and Craig, along with the rest of the investigative team made its return back to the Marsh. 

Marcel was given the mallet and Tyler all too eagerly ran to hunt down Evan. The consultant had been tucked away to work on his court statement. He'd learned to get the dry and informationless bullshit done with and out of the way as soon as he possibly could. Tyler didn't bother to knock on the door. He pushed it open a little too quickly for the poor door’s liking and rushed to Evan’s side. He grabbed ahold of Evan’s seat and literally dragged him away from his desk. Evan still had his hands on his keyboard for as long as possible, desperate to keep writing. A finger slipped and a few buttons were accidentally pushed while he was trying to make up for the growing distance between him and his computer. He'd deleted everything.

A sad sigh escaped him. The kind of sigh a man makes when he remembers his long dead dog from his childhood, or the sigh a woman makes when she thinks back on the love she let slip through her fingers years ago. A sad and helpless sigh. He got up from his chair and prompt followed Tyler out the door. He didn't bother to ask where it was they were going. He knew Tyler wasn't going to answer. At least not while he was in a playful mood like this. He figured he'd know once they got there. 

Evan gave Tyler clearance to leave through the “employees only” exit. When he'd first started his consultant work, he wasn't entirely sure why the Marsh had such an exit. But he'd learned over a week at best exactly why. And it's name was Tyler. 

Tyler got the door for Evan and even took the time to put on his own seatbelt. Evan’s curiosity was stricken to life then. He said nothing. A single eyebrow rose above its brother and a questioning yet approving smirk lit up his face.

“We’re going some where fancy,” he commented under his breath. Tyler scoffed.

“Fancy isn't the word I'd use. More like, soul crushing and agitating.”

“The DMV?”

Tyler let out a quick and short laugh. He mockingly repeated Evan’s sensear question and was then instantly over whelmed by a fit of laughter. Tears swelled at the corners of his eyes and he couldn't breathe. Evan was extremely glad that they hadn't been driven when the fit had possessed his partner. He laughed too after a bit, unsure as if why it was they were laughing, or what it was that they were even laughing at. 

Tyler tried to suffocate his laugh the way one suffocates a fire. A series of odd croaking sounds was the result. He wiped the tears from his eyes and sighed contently. Finally he started up his car. The engine roared loudly, greedy for the high speeds and the complete negligence for traffic safety laws.

But Tyler was terrified that he'd start laughing again, so, for once in his life, he drove with care. He was even nice and let people over who wished it. He never did that. He didn't even race the guy next to him who'd been stopped at the same light. And as much as Evan loved the change, it was equally as terrifying as the reckless driving he was so used to. 

Mevertheless, the two had arrived nice and safe at the courthouse. Evan felt his soul either and die right there and then. All happiness that had existed only moments ago was now gone. Anguish existed now it its place. 

“We need a warrant,” Tyler grumbled, equally as unhappy. 

Years ago, the two had agreed to never go to the court house with out some company. They were certain, dead certain to be more accurate, that if they didn't, they'd die of bordum. 

And just as these two were about to enter the world’s most unhappy environment to ever exist, Luke and Brock were finally done with their recreation of the murder. 

Thanks to the mallet, they finally had all the missing pieces needed for this complex puzzle. Marcel was running the hand prints through their poilice racords as they were all gathered in the untidy office for three. 

“Our murder begins at one eleven in the morning,” Luke started. Quickly Brock pulled up a simulation of Adam’s house. The camera morphed through the wall and there stood three men. Adam stood closest to the door. Anthony and chilled were busy with a game of pool, with Steven placed nearest the window. The room lights up from a car’s headlights. Seconds later bullets start piercing the walls. The window breaks.

“Steven gets hit. Anthony, in his panic, knocks over the pool table. Both men are dead before they hit the ground. But Adam?”

The simulation continued. Adam, who was already so close to the door, stepped out into the hall, but not before getting shot in the hip. He staggered towards the door. The front door gets blasted open. A man rushes at Adam. The millionaire is too weak to fight back and in too much pain. He's easily overpowered and dragged outside. A car is there and waiting. The murderer throws both Adam and the gun into the trunk and takes off. He drives over to a small and, lets face it, abandoned boat house where he knows he won't be caught. It's nearly two in the morning when they arrive. The killed hauls Adam out of the trunk and into the boat house. He then throws Adam to the floor. All the while, Adam has been bleeding heavily. He's unconscious seconds after he's on the floor. He died while the murderer hunts down a weapon. He grabs a mallet and smashes Adam’s face in, along with several of his limbs. He throws the mallet into the tackle box and locked it shut. He then dragged Adam back to the car and drives several miles away from the boat house. He buries Adam in the sand and takes off. 

“Adam died much later than his two friends,” he concluded. Marcel had a permanent grimace drawn about him. It always disturbed him to watch these recreations. It disturbed everyone. That made them undeniably effective when used in court. It made the murderer look more like a monster that way. Sometimes it's just hard to imagine what happened to some one. Sometimes it hurts to imagine. So they have to do the “imagining” for everyone and save them the effort.

Marcel nodded at the sight and sighed. He turned to the others.

“Tyler and Evan are off getting the warrant for Tom’s hands-”

“I thought he wasn't the killer.”

“Let me finish. Tyler and Evan are off getting the warrant for Tom’s hands as well as-” his phone went off in his pocket. He pulled it free and glanced down at the caller ID. He cursed to himself. “What's up Jon? Where are you? You're where?! Why?! Good god, what happened?” He pulled the phone aside and covered the end with his hand. “Did you all know that Jonathan got hurt while working in the field? By a tackle box? He's in bed rest.”

He returned the phone to his ear and excused himself. The others watched him go, all furious that he'd kept himself from finishing his thought. They all turned to Luke.

“Oh, good job, Luke. Real good job. Interrupting Marcel. Good fucking job!” Smitty teased. He took a sip from his large glass of Cool-aid. He accidentally inhaled a bit and began to choke. He ended up spitting out his large mouthful of red liquid. He was so startled by his own reaction that he dropped his cup, making a bigger mess. All eyes were fixed on Smitty, who looked around super sadly then moved to find a mop. Though a mop probably wouldn't do him any good due to the fact that the floor was covered in carpet. But it was the thought that counts!


	13. Thirteen

Tyler and Evan sat in dead silence as they climbed back into the truck. Both looked as if they'd considerably aged. Tyler plucked from his head yet another grey hair. Evan could feel the crows feet practically pinching at his eyes. They both felt like doing nothing but sorting themselves down in a rocking chair on a porch.

“Want some noise?”

“Yes. Fucking yes.”

Evan readily blasted the radio. His hands had been headed towards the little knob before Tyler even gave his answer. Noise was going to happen. It had to happen. 

They didn't give two shits about the fact that they were listening to country music. It was sound; it was something! The courthouse was empty of sound. You could hear the cases three hall's down. You could hear one of the lawyers taking a piss in one of the far bathrooms. Both men could have sworn they heard a small infant say it's first words from all the way down in Brazil. Despite all of those strange sounds, it was nothing more than a demonstration on just how quiet a place could be. The sound of music, what ever kind it may be, was a heavenly gift.

Then Tyler had to go and shut it off the second he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, like a jackass. Any way, He glanced at the I D and had a mini panic attack. He told Evan to shush and took a second to calm down before answering with a cool and collective voice.

“Hey Ohm, what's up?” Evan tried to listen in on the conversation. He watched Tyler’s face twist into one of joy. A blush ate away at his cheeks. He gnawed at the side of his lip. It was weirdly adorable! 

“Yeah, Marcel told us. We got it. We’re going to go and find him to serve it to him-you what? He was? Do you know where he is now? Can you figure it out? I don't know, your the psychologist, you’ll find a way. You got what?! That's amazing-how-? You did what now?” The blush was gone. Words alone could not describe just how Tyler’s heart had broken in that moment. It disturbed Evan when Tyler fell suddenly very quiet.

“Oh. Ok. Mhmm. Mhmm. Ok. Yeah. Great. Ok. Got it. Yeah. Yeah, see you soon. Ok. Yeah. Bye.” He hung up and slowly put his phone back into his pocket. He turned to Evan with his bottom lip sticking out in a child’s pout. It trembled a bit and he returned his focus to the road. 

“What happened?”

“Ohm has a way to get our culprit.”

“Why is this making you sad then?”

“He said that he's “sad” because apparently they had a “really nice lunch” and he'd been “looking forward” to an actual date.”

Tyler spat every quoted word. He wasn't angry. No. Far from it actually. It was just that he'd been taught from a young age that crying was a sign of weakness, so he hid his sorrow with every other available emotion at that time. This time it was anger. Maybe next time it would be confusion! Who really knows?

Evan felt his own heartache. He couldn't imagine Luke pulling something like that. He'd probably die of sadness. He was amazed that Tyler wasn't crying. Tyler turned the music back up and the two drove the rest the way in silence. 

Ohm was a smart man. He hadn’t always been smart. In fact, he had a vast many stupidly influenced scars. His back, for example, had a large scar roughly the size of his foot just above his left buttcheek. But he learned from his mistakes. He quit car surfing. It was this ability to learn that was what made him a wise and tricky man. The psychology doctorate that was hanging on the wall in his apartment was there to prove it. 

It took Ohm three minutes to come up with a way to get the culprit. They had warrants, and now they knew where to find him.

Ohm sat patiently in his car. The tire was flat and he was with out a spare. He'd been careful to ensure he didn't have one. He watched the road with great anticipation. The brush besides him had been tampered with, doing its best to conceal an entire car. Said car had hidden away inside four officers, Tyler included. Ohm was wire tapped and everyone could hear everything he said. So he was careful not to say anything. Not until it mattered at least.

Max pulled up with a goofy grin. He hopped out of the car ready with a tool box. Ohm exited slowly from his imobile car and threw on his best thankful smile.

“God, you're the best. I can't thank you enough for this. I know this was short notice, but you said that you were a mechanic for a while...” he trailed off. Max waved off his concerns and knelt down besides the car. He examined the tire to see what damage had come to it. He frowned at the sight.

“You said you noticed something while you were on the highway trying to get back to work?” Ohm nodded. 

“It was near the exit. I think I ran over some debris from an accident or something. Again, thank you so much.”

It infuriated Tyler how easily Ohm played the helpless damsel in distress. It was disturbing how he was capable of turning men as scary as Tyler or as vicious as Max into mere putty. It was the eyes, he was sure of it. Ohm had the biggest hazel eyes that just naturally had a sad droop to them. 

Max got back to his feet with a shake of his head, “This doesn't look like you ran over some debris, it looks like your tire was slashed.”

“It was fine when I left Momed. Maybe I got too close to the divider. The metal ends are kinda sharp.” 

Max wasn't an idiot. He could smell bullshit when it was there. Something was up. Still, if this young gentleman had some enemies, like he did, then who was he to judge? Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Hopefully not real skeletons, as that would be illegal in most places. Illegal and terrifying. Besides, only God could judge people. God and judges as that was quite literally their jobs. That said, Max was still happy to help out.

“Well, unfortunately, I don't have a spare on me. I can drop you off at your office though. I mean, that is if you need a ride.”

“If you don't mind,” Ohm cooed. 

Max’s little heart was racing. He was doing his damndest to appear like this was nothing to him, but in reality his head was screaming with joy. 

A voice suddenly harassed Ohm’s ear. It was hushed, but Ohm could still hear the anger cloaked panic that Tyler would only ever use with him. 

“Don't get in his car, Ohm, do not get in his car!”

Max lead Ohm back on over to his own truck. It was an older thing, beat up and sick of living. But it ran. And it ran well. The shell was nothing compared to what it could do. Max had worked on it since he'd first bought it. Nothing ran faster and smoother than this old beast. Ohm was hesitant, but followed anyway. He couldn't just suddenly refuse, that would be weird. 

“Can I call a tow real fast? I'll forget the address if I don't.”

“Absolutely,” Max chimed. Ohm smiled nice and soft and sauntered on back to his car. He grabbed his phone and finally gave the awaiting dispatch officer the go. There was nothing more for him to do now. The rest was in the agent’s hands. 

Max started up his car. Ohm was steadily realizing that he might have to get in. Of things went slower on Tyler’s end, or too fast on his, he'd have no other choice. He wasn't sure how else he was supposed to stall either. He thought that things would have gone down a different path. He looked anxiously towards where he knew Tyler was waiting. He could do nothing but hope that Tyler was on his way. Ohm brought the phone up to his ear and pretended to call for a tow. This could buy him time but admittedly not much. He figured that as long as he kept up the act, maybe things would be ok.

“What's the street, do you know?” Ohm asked, covering the end of his phone. He never took an acting class before in his life so he could only hope that he was pulling this off. Apparently he was, much to his surprise and pleasure. 

Max moved to see the street sign not too far away, “Uh, fifteenth and South Grape Ave.”

Ohm threw himself into a faked conversation with an equally faked tow company. He repeated his location, gave up his phone number, his license plate number, described his car, and gave up his first and last name to boot! He answered every question he thought a tow company would ask. It wasn't enough. 

“How long do you think it'll take to get to me?” Now, this last one wasn't faked. He waited impatiently for Tyler’s reply. The man was in the process of being rushed into another truck. The previous one wasn't built for chasing anyone down, and he had a feeling that he'd have to. Despite his rushed and silent transition, he felt compelled to answer Ohm.

“I'll be there in just a minute, Ohmie. You hang in there, ok?”

“Thank you so much-”

“Ohm, keep talking. Don't get in that car. Don't-”

It had been too late. Upon hearing Ohm say “thanks,” Max gave a wide a toothy smile, “You all settled then?”

Ohm could feel his heart beating restlessly inside his chest. He was terrified. He was out of questions and complications to stall with. Despite his better judgment, he nodded. He hesitantly returned his phone to his pocket. 

Max beamed, “I hope you don't mind my interesting music choices,” he apologized. He walked over to personally escort Ohm back to the awaiting car. Ohm walked slowly, now desperate to try anything if it would slow the clock even if by only the slightest bit. Still he felt that he was walking too fast. 

“I’m not picky when it comes to music.”

 

Tyler shook his head at that. That was a damn lie. Ohm was very picky with his music. Sometimes he'd find a song and change it halfway through when only seconds before hand he'd been singing along to it. It's likely that he wasn't singing well, Tyler heavily doubted Ohm knew how to do that, but that didn't stop him from singing anyway. He hated songs that he'd claimed were his favorite just days ago. Now, generas? He couldn't give two shits about that. Maybe one shit at most, at most! Not two shits though. He was an interesting character when it came to his music and it was impossible to please him.

“That's good. Hey, do you have to go back right away or can we got grab a coffee on the way?”

“Yeah, I have time for a coffee. I think. I don't know actually, what time is it?”

Max glanced down at his phone. He squinted at the dark screen. With the sun hanging over head like the jack ass that it was, it was nearly impossible to see anything. Ohm was more than happy to stop walking to let Max fix that. 

“Uh, four sixteen.”

“I’ve got time, yeah. Where's the nearest coffee place from here.” There, he thought excitedly, that'll buy us time! Nobody is quick with directions, fucking nobody.

Tyler started up his truck. Evan was already waiting inside (something he'd find himself doing rather often as the story progresses; waiting inside the truck for Tyler). He looked to his partner expectantly.

“Are we a go?”

“We’re a go. And we’ve got to go now, so buckle up buttercup, cause I'm planning on speeding more so than usual-” and as the words fell from his mouth he slammed his foot flat against the gas pedal and took off. The sound of burning rubber ripped apart the sky. It was the only thing Ohm heard that could now confirm his soon to arrive rescue due to the fact that the dispatchers had muted him.

While Max looked up the closest coffee shop, Ohm took the time to contemplate how he'd managed to fall head over heels for this guy. Or if this was even the right guy. It had to be. There was no doubt about that. He never had doubts about anything, but this was an exception. He didn't have a doubt in his mind, for example, that Max wasn't their guy, but he did have doubts about what kind of guy Max actually was. He was terrified of what could have been and what almost was. He reminded himself to completely reevaluate his life and choice of men. But he really couldn't help it, he had a thing for those soft smiles, cocky attitudes, confident auras, and great humors. And muscles. He loved him a man who could clearly lift. In all honesty, he would have happily dated Tyler, who fit all of the requirements (and then some, honey, oh boy!) but he greatly doubted that Tyler saw him in that way. Tyler treated him the way a big brother treats their little brother. Maybe it wasn't meant to be. And you know what else wasn't meant to be?-he asked himself- You and Max. And it was this thought that brought him back to earth.

“The closest thing to us is a Starbucks, go figure. You want Starbucks?”

“I won't turn it away~” he walked his fingers up Max’s arm, taking time to lock eyes with him. Max repressed the shiver that threatened him. Ohm pondered if he should make the innuendo that was screaming to be blurted. Ohm bit his lip, an unintentional little action that did not go unnoticed. Now Max could tell that he was biting back a little comment. He cocked an eyebrow in response.

“I'm not a one night stand, you hear?”

“I never said you were,” he purred in response. A cheeky smile spread like melted butter over Max’s face. He held himself back from reaching down and grabbing a nice handful of Ohm’s ass. He figured that now wasn't the best time, and it was far too early in the relationship. Maybe later. Hopefully later. 

Tyler was internally screaming. He hated hearing this. Still he knew that it wasn't in his place to police who Ohm dated. Although, now he had a bit of an argument against that previous sentence. 

He pulled onto the road that Ohm and Max were standing in the middle of. Their backs were facing the approaching vehicle, only Ohm knew that they were coming. Tyler pulled up nice and slow. He let his anger guide him. He pulled over and hopped out of the car.

He announced himself loudly, forcing the two to flip around and face the new arrivals, “Well, hi there.”

“Aren't you Agent Tyler Wilds?”

“I am. Just like you’re Max Gonzales who's under arrest for the murder-”

Tyler didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. He'd barely been able to pull the handcuffs from his pocket when Max took off sprinting for his car. He took ahold of Ohm’s arm and pulled him along. He didn't want to hurt the man, he was quite fond of him, but he needed him to ensure for his own safety and escape. Little did he know that this was perhaps the dumbest thing he could have done.

He climbed into his car and started it up with a fluid flick of his wrist. The car’s door. neglected in the hurry, was still wide open when Max sped as fast as his car would allow him to down the road. He turned into a neighborhood hoping to ditch the cops along the many streets.

Tyler laughed maliciously. It took him less than a second to climb back into his own car and start to chase after the murderous fuck. 

“This is agent Tyler Wilds requesting back up on 15th and South Grape. We are in hot pursuits, man in question is of a light complexion, dark hair, and currently has another officer hostage in the car with him. Be on the lookout for a green pick up and it is speeding.” 

A younger agent responded quickly, answering only with the confirmation that he'd gotten the message and was dispatching more officers. 

Tyler turned on his lights and felt like a lion on the hunt! His truck was beyond happy to jump to such high speeds in such a short span of time. Evan, on the other hand, was smashed against his seat, unable to move at all. 

He turned his eyes to the sky, which he could just barely see through the tinted sunroof above him, and hoped that God could see him. He was scared that if he removed his hands (one was tightly clutching the door handle, the other was in front of him, pushing against the dash to hold him in place) that he'd get tossed around like a rag doll. Still he prayed. Whether or not god listened was a completely different matter. 

“Do I shoot?” He asked, once he'd sent a lengthy apology and ask for forgiveness. Tyler shook his head viciously.

“You might hit Ohm. Not only would you hurt or possibly kill Ohm, but the bureau would relieve you of your gun, you would no longer be permitted to work with us, and then I would kill you. Don't shoot.”

Evan nodded. He was glad he wouldn't have to shoot. That was always a shitty predicament and he hated the loudness of it. All that aside, he would never admit it, but he was a terrible shot. Chances were he'd undoubtedly hit Ohm on his first try and he probably would have originally been aiming for the sky. He's Magic that way. 

Max cursed aloud several frantic times when he discovered that the street he'd taken lead to a dead end. He'd have to turn around now. He might have to shoot his way out. He really didn't want to do that. Maybe he wouldn't have to. He glanced at Ohm, who was viciously fighting to free his hands from the zip ties Max had instantly placed him in, and cursed again. He wanted to hit him, kill him even. This had been planned!

Ohm sighed heavily and gave up. His thoughts ran in circles. What did he have at his disposal? What were his options? He could try and take the wheel, but they were driving down a lovely and quaint street and there were small children playing in the yards that he didn't want to hurt with that reckless idea. He could always try to overtake Max, but that might also lead to the injury of others. That left the window. It was open, wide open. Max hadn't even thought of that when he'd taken off. Nothing mattered to him more than escaping the cops, his own door was still open. And thus it was decided.

For once in his life, Ohm was thrilled to be absent of a seat belt. Max slowed down only so that he could execute a turn without running into a house and delaying him further. Ohm took that time to launch himself towards the window. His hands latched tightly onto the ciac rack on the truck’s hood and he struggled to lift himself up. He managed to get half way out of the truck before Max really noticed anything. 

“You're suicidal!” The bellowing shout didn't deter Ohm from his mission one bit. But Max’s hand did. It took a fist full of Ohm’s cloths and he yanked. Earlier when he wanted to grab at Ohm’s Ass and had decided upon “maybe later,” this wasn't what he meant. 

Tyler watched in great horror as Ohm tried to hurl himself out the window. He turned to Evan just to make sure he wasn't the only one seeing what was happening. Evan shrugged, unsure what kind of response it was that Tyler was looking for.

“He's suicidal!” Evan flinched at Tyler’s exclamation. His voice really shouldn't have been able to get that high. It was unholy.

With much struggle, a great deal of determination, and adrenaline pumping through his veins, Ohm had managed to pull himself out of Max’s grasp and fell out the window onto the viciously rough asphalt below. Max slammed on the breaks. He'd been so distracted with Ohm’s suicide attempt that he hadn't seen the truck driving right at him. There really wasn't any way to avoid this.

Ohm lay motionless on the ground. His hands were in absolute agony and for a second there, he’d nearly forgotten how to breathe, but it came back to him. His ability to move, however, did not. At least, not as fast as it could have. Pain restricted a great deal of his movements. He knew he was bleeding but he couldn't figure out where from. And there was no doubt in his mind that he'd broken something, but that too, was numb and unknown to him. 

Max snatched his emergency pistol from the glove compartment and ran to Ohm’s side. He wasn't sure what kind of trouble this would get him into. As far as he was concerned, he'd already hit rock bottom. There wasn't much lower he could reach. 

Tyler and Evan were just as fast at getting out of the truck as Max had been. Both men held their own guns at the ready wit their fingers hovering near the trigger and just aching for Max to try something more stupid than what he was currently doing. Max pressed his gun hard into the side of Ohm’s head. He watched the two officers carefully.

“One more step and I'll kill him!” He emphasized his threat by shoving the barrel of the gun further into Ohm’s poor skull. The two agents froze in their place. Tyler trained his gun at Max’s head. He wanted to fire right between the man’s eyes right then and there. Max was a bastard. But that wasn't how they did things. That wasn't how he did things, not anymore. He was past firing at will. His days in the military were done and over with. He had new rules and a moral compass to keep him in line. Max did not.

It was rapidly occurring to the two agents that assistance would be made near impossible as this was, in fact, a cul-de-sac. But then they realized that they didn't need it at all.

Once he'd gotten past the initial shock from jumping out of the window of a moving car, Ohm realized what was happening and where he was. No one had been given any warning when he brought his elbow up and into Max’s chin. Max fell back, releasing Ohm from his grip and dropping his gun. The doctor darted forward towards the safety of his armed friends. Max looked up alarmed. Slowly he brought his hands up and into the air. He knew when he'd been beaten. 

Tyler smiled at this. It was always nice when the suspects came willingly. This really hadn't been “willingly” but it would have to fucking do. Tyler ensured that Evan never lifted his gun away from the man as he went to put him in handcuffs. He read him his Miranda rights just as backup had arrived. It was an interesting sight, all those cars packed tightly into one tiny little street. 

Finally, Tyler thought, nearly aloud, fucking finally. They'd caught the god damn bastard. He owed Tom and apology. Was Tom actually going to get an apology? Probably not, Tyler wasn't in the mood to be nice. Maybe if the jerkface hadn't killed his friends and tried to kill Ohm, then maybe, just maybe then he'd apologize. Only then he'd have no reason to. 

He tossed Max into the back of one of the cruisers. He sighed heavily. The joy he'd felt when they thought that they'd thought they'd got Tom was nothing compared to the relief felt when he knew that Max was finally going to get what he deserved. 

He slowly approached the ambulance that had been called when they'd heard that Ohm had been injured. Ohm sat on its exposed truck bed with a rough looking felt blanket wrapped around his shoulders and bandages covering his face and half of his left arm. He smiled when he saw Tyler approach.

“I got into the car. I didn't want to, but I did. I'm sorry.” 

Tyler wrapped him up in a side hug, scared to death that he'd end up hurting Ohm further if he did anything more. 

“You're alive and that's what matters. But no more stupid stunts with cars!” He ruffled Ohm’s already messy hair and was overjoyed when Ohm responded with a soft giggle. He didn't want to leave Ohm’s side, but he had to get back so that he could finally wipe his hands of this exhausting case. That and the doctors needed to finish up with the bandaging anyway. He let his hand linger on Ohm for as long as possible before tearing himself away. 

Evan was already in the truck. He had his phone in his hands and was staring down at the many places he and his loving husband could stay while in Greece. Luke had mentioned he'd already found some places. Evan hoped that he could find some too, and they could compare which places they'd picked and decide from there. 

After watching Tyler nearly lose Ohm and vice versa, Evan suddenly had a newfound appreciation for Luke’s dull office job. He was thrilled with the fact that he'd never have to worry about him getting hurt or killed on the job. And maybe, to be fair, he could give up his job, and also ease Luke’s worries of his own death while working a case. ‘Cause apparently it's more likely than he'd originally thought it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I really hope I posted the right chapter. If so, great! If not, I'm so sorry. Love ya, ya nerds!!


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy mean girls day!

The Marsh was empty of its nerds and geeks assigned to the triple homicide. Their stations were far from abandoned, however. They wouldn't need to be there anymore. Not really. They had the warrant for the hand prints. If that came back positive, then they no doubt had their killer.

That aside, everyone knew he was their murderer. They'd all left their station to see the man for themselves. Marcel had granted permission. The team was set and waiting in the hearing room. They stood before the empty interrogation room in great anticipation. Tyler, Ohm, and Evan were on their way back, it wouldn't be long until they got there. 

Craig paced back and forth. This had been an aggravating case, to say in the least. A hatred had been burning in his chest since the identification of Adam’s body. He'd put himself purely in the working mind to quickly and accurately solve this case. It was a strange relief to know that the bastard behind it all was now in cuffs. 

The room was silent. All eyes were watching through the window, as if Max was already there. None dared glance at the door when it opened and the young intern slipped inside. The room was already engulfed in hatred, but upon his arrival, the feeling doubled. This made everyone uneasy. And slowly they turned to see which of them it was that hated this man more than the others.

“Smitty? I thought you were back at the Marsh,” Luke began quietly. His voice was strained from having not used it in a long while. The intern shot him a look (a lion on the hunt could not make a more fierce glare!) and he turned his full attention towards the empty room.

“I wouldn't miss this for the world. Not this, and not the court hearing either.”

“Why? You never even met Adam or the others-”

“That's bullshit.” He grit his teeth. Veins bulged from his neck. Smitty didn't smoke but for a brief moment he wondered if he should consider taking up the practice. It might help relieve stress even if for only an addicting brief moment. Nah. Maybe not. 

Everyone was now all eyes and ears, awaiting a further explanation other than the simple and angry retort.

“How did you know Adam?” Marcel had been careful in the way he asked this. He didn't know enough about the human mind to know what tone could calm a person down, or which could make them angrier, he just knew that he didn't want to make Smitty any more mad than how mad he already was. There might lend up being another murder case if he did.

“He was my benefactor and the whole reason I can afford college and why I got this job.” He didn't even realize he'd answered. His thoughts were racing around in circles, all of which were around murder and how to get away with one. Problem was he didn't know enough about how to solve them to accurately commit one…yet. 

“He was your benefactor. Adam? Our Adam? I find that hard to believe.” 

“Anthony introduced us. I won't get into it, but let's just say that we were close friends. I had told him at some point what field I wanted to get into but couldn't afford the schooling. He said he knew someone who could help. That's how I ended up meeting Adam. And Adam knew several people in my desired occupational position. He said that he was more than happy to help a friend of friend. And then we, too, became friends shortly thereafter. I've known Adam for four years, I've known Anthony for seven, and I've known Steven for six. So yeah, it absolutely infuriates me that the men who helped me get where I'm standing here now are dead. All because of some illegal gun dealing prick-!” 

He stopped himself there, afraid that what he might say next wouldn't be the best thing to say. Especially not to this crowd.

Craig was shocked. The Adam he knew was this cheap asshole who partied too much and didn't follow the rules. He was a fun loving jerk who loved his friends and hated to pay up. The Adam he knew...still owed him twenty bucks the god damn ass hat! All that aside/said, it was mind boggling that the same stingy Adam had been putting Smitty through college. That just didn't sound like Adam, but at the same time, that sounded exactly like a thing Adam would do.

“I didn't know. I’m sorry for your loss,” Luke apologized. The others nodded in agreement. Smitty sighed through his nostrils and felt a wave of stress and anger flow away with it. His rage was slowly fading away, and as it drowned, a lump in his throat began to rise, his nose began to burn, and his chest grew tight. He was going to cry. He didn't want to cry. 

Craig was honestly the only one who noticed any significant changes in the intern’s behavior. When he opened his mouth to ensure that the man was going to be alright but he never had the chance to speak so much as a syllable when the interrogation room door flew open. 

Evan quickly joined the rest of the Marsh team. His colleagues greeted him warmly. He instinctively fled to be besides his husband. He didn't understand why, but he felt he needed the comfort and protection he knew Luke would provide him with. The team watched the room.

Max took a seat at the metal table. Tyler remained standing near the door, choosing to lean against the wall opposite of the mirror. Ohm had taken a seat across from Max. All had taken immediate notice of the alarming amount of bandages he adorned and how blood was clearly seeping past them. It was perhaps even more startling to see the psychologist without any emotion. Normally he had a calculating scowl drawn about him but now he was purely emotionless, empty, and void. The man was a reckless idiot, but he wasn’t heartless. His job was to appear before the accused as the “good cop” and maybe help ease tensions a bit. 

“What happened?” 

Luke made sure to keep his voice a low whisper into Evan’s hair. The consultant frowned and tried to find the proper way to answer. When he couldn't, he chose instead to hold Luke’s hand tight in his own and keep it there.

“I’ll tell you later,” he assured.

Tyler glanced at the mirror. Evan stepped forward and turned a knob on a nearby speaker. Now they could all hear what the murderous shit head had to say for himself. Tyler held on for a second longer before turning his attention back towards Max. It was time to end this once and for all. 

“Max, are you a religious man?”

Ohm removed a pen from his pocket and began to scribble away on a legal pad. His glasses had been pushed close to his eyes and he was watching the blue ink bleed into the paper intently. Max spared a quick glance at the writing, curious about what it said before deciding to focus on the man asking the questions.

“Depends.”

“Do you believe you have morals?” 

Ohm shot his eyes up at max, looking at his facial expressions over the rim of his glasses. Max dropped his gaze for a second.

“Yes, sir.”

“Wouldn't you consider murder against anyone’s moral code?”

“Agent, allow me to ask you a question,” Max grumbled. A nerve had been struck. Ohm’s pen ceased its rapid movements and he watched Tyler now, very carefully. If push came to shove, he could maybe restrain Max, but Tyler? Not a chance. Tyler didn't say a word. Max didn't let him.

“You served haven't you? And even if you haven't, you've been an agent for a while. How many people have you killed in your life time?”

Tyler fell as pale as a fresh sheet of snow. Ohm watched this man of anger and stone turn into a mess of memories that went unspoken. Max went on.

“Your right hand’s index finger is naturally hooked. You've got a trigger finger on you. How many times had you pulled that trigger to get your finger to stay like that?”

He'd effectively thrown Tyler off guard. Now any moral argument he had was gone. He had no grounds to stand on. Ohm set down his pen and folded his hands.

“Agent Tyler killed in self defense. He was on the front lines amongst the heaviest of fire and had to shoot to save his life and the lives of others. As far as while on duty, again, it's always been in self defense. You? You killed with malice, intent, and out of rage. See the difference, the moral difference?”

Tyler stared at Ohm. Max was silent. He glared across the table towards the psychologist. His mind was working over time trying to find a counter argument. 

“According to the law, both count as homocide. I might get charged with a first degree homocide. And while you could argue self defense, it still counts as homocide. It still counts as murder.”

“And the men he killed? All equally as armed, if not more, than he was. His life and it the lives of others was in danger. What if the men you killed? Were they armed?”

“I never said I killed anyone. I was merely pointing out the fact that Agent Tyler was being rudely hypocritical.”

“And what of me? If I accuse you of murder and question your morals, what would be your retort?”

Max was silent. Talking to Ohm was playing a game of chess. He was well versed in this game and all of its rules. Max had dabbled in this game a few times, not nearly as many as Ohm, but he had a winning streak and was desperate to maintain it.

“You mean to say that you've never shot anyone?”

“Never. The most harm I've ever done to another person was break their nose and I had been eight at the time.”

“That's not true, you elbowed me in the chin hardly even an hour ago!”

“Did you die? Did I break anything? The worst you have from that is a well deserved bruise. So I restate my question, Mr. Gonzales. If I accused you of murder and questioned your morals, how would you retort?”

Max could alsmot physically feel himself getting backed into a corner. Every one he made that he thought was good was easily countered. What an annoying game. He took a seconds more to sort out his thoughts.

“I'm certain that should ever a time arise, you'd pull the trigger to, therefore, you'd also then hold a blurred moral code and be considered a murderer.”

“No one can truly know if they can kill another human being unless they are put in that situation. You're proposing a hypothetical situation that has arisen several times in my life and I've still never fired a gun let alone taken the life of another. You, however, have.”

“What proof do you have?”

Ohm grinned. Tyler readily produced a thick file and tossed it haphazardly on the table. Max stared down at the file and shot a glare towards both agents. 

“Everything is documented right there and made in triplicate,” Tyler informed. He gave Ohm a thankful glance before turning his full attention back to Max. He took a seat, however on the table and not in one of the chairs. Ohm relaxed upon sensing Tyler’s return from wherever his mind had taken him. Tyler folded his hands nice and neat in his lap and threw on a mocking grin. 

“I just want to let you know that if you confess now, things will go better for you in court.”

Max sighed heavily and crossed his arms. He leaned back in his seat. Ohm took this time to return to his note taking. Max barely spared so much as a glance towards the papers. He massaged the bridge of his nose for a while trying his best to look annoyed with this “inconvenience” more than anything else.

“Who’d you say I murdered again?”

“Why do you insist on making things more difficult than they need to be?” 

Now Tyler was the one getting really annoyed. He hated stubborn criminals. He hated stubborn and stupid criminals, and Max was indeed a stupid criminal who was being unreasonably stubborn. He figured he'd better take a new approach on things.

 

“Allow me to paint you a picture, Mr. Gonzales. Imagine you have three very near and dear friends-”

“Three?”

“Three. Adam Montoya. Steven Viking. And Anthony Cruios. You killed three good men. Now, I'll admit, Adam wasn't the best man in the world, but really nobody is. Anthony and Steven did nothing to you, nothing! And you shot them in cold blood.”

“I never killed three people.”

Ohm took note of the interesting choice of words used and jot them down, frowning. Tyler wanted to reach across the table and slap Max. The man was unreal. He set himself up for disaster every time he opened his mouth! He could have easily saved his own ass ages ago, to some degree with four simple words. But he wanted to play these games, he wanted to win on his own. 

Max felt as if he'd just shot himself in the foot. He placed his head on his hands and groaned to himself in a fit of self pity and hatred. Finally he lifted his head and reluctantly he spoke.

“If I killed Adam, I at least had a reason to want to, I'll give you that, but I didn't kill the other two. They were friends of mine, I'd never hurt them let alone kill them.”

Tyler and Ohm exchanged glances with one another. Max had returned to leaning up against the table, propped up by his elbows. He watched Tyler carefully. He wasn’t sure what to make of the agent. Something told him that this wasn't a man he'd like to make angry, and he'd already made him angry. He glanced nervously towards Ohm.

“I didn't kill Anthony or Steven-”

“Max,” Tyler interjected with a huff, “how did you do it?”

Max was hesitant. He didn't want to give an answer. As far as he saw things, maybe he could win this case in court. He refused to answer any more questions. They couldn't make him. He crossed his arms defensively across his chest with a knowing grin. 

Evan groaned. He'd seen that look on over a hundred convicted criminals in that very same chair before. Luke tightened his hold on his husband’s hand. The comfort was welcomed and much needed. 

“He’s going to ask for a lawyer now, I just know it.”

Ohm looked up from his note pad as if he'd heard Evan’s worries. He watched Max a moment before releasing a heavy and awkwardly strained sigh. He stared across the table and focused on the slightest twitches of muscle. Each one was immediately translated into a given emotion and put into context of the situation. He smiled. Slowly he peeled himself up from his chair. His eyes danced from Max to the mirror. He didn't look at Max when he spoke. 

“Fifteen thousand dollars. Adam cheated you out of fifteen grand. You knew Adam from your camera business and you knew this was bound to happen, but Tom didn't listen. Because Adam and Tom were friends. So when he cheated the two of you out of your cash, you decided to do something about it. Am I wrong?”

Max bit back his tongue. He shot a quick glance up at Tyler though he wasn't sure why. All of a sudden the beast he was (certain was going to beat him to death on the spot at any given moment) so afraid of was easier to look at than the one he almost went out with. Ohm took the silence as an absolute. A smile cracked his lips. From where Craig stood, he looked deranged. 

“Maybe you didn't actually want to kill Adam. Maybe you just wanted to care him. Rough him up a bit. Finally get the message across that you were sick of his shit because let's face it, we were all sick of his shit. So you pull up to his house in Tom's car and let the bullets fly. He comes stumbling out of the house and you see that you've only shot his hip. You shot his hip at a funny angle. He had been falling when he got shot. You couldn't have known this. You're thinking that he’ll be fine. Maybe you'll beat him until he's an inch away from death and spare him. So you stuff him in the trunk and go for a lovely joy ride down to the beach. All the while you're brewing up the perfect things to say, your little lesson. But for whatever reason, he's still not listening to you. He died on that floor before you can figure it out, and his silence only spurs your anger further. Blinded by it, you just wail on him. It's almost therapeutic isn't it? At least, I had several people tell me that beating the crap out of someone had that effect.”

Tyler had been listening to Ohm intently, nodding as the prediction went on. He stopped at that last sentence with a slight look of concern before remembering the fact that before working as a field agent, he'd been nothing more than a counselor for other field agents. And being a field agent himself he had to admit, sometimes letting off steam in a physical way was extremely therapeutic, and he let the comment slide with that.

“Realizing that you've killed him, you bury him about a mile away from that little boat house. You go home feeling like a hero because you made sure that Adam won't be able to screw anyone else over.”

“You have no proof that I did any of that.”

Ohm said nothing. He reached into his pocket and slid it across the table for Max to observe. Tyler cocked a curious eyebrow.

“You turned yourself in.” He'd provided the napkin Max had jot down his phone number on. Max glanced at it. Ohm then partnered te napkin with one of Tom’s odd business cards. Max’s face grew a pastry white. 

“Using your phone number for your illegal gun dealing isn't the smartest idea.”

“So? Tom was pretty pissed. How do you know that Tom didn't kill him?”

“Max,” Ohm sighed, putting his head into his hands. This action confused nearly everyone, and greatly disturbed Tyler who discovered that the doctor was laughing and trying to hide this fact. 

“What innocent man takes another hostage when being pursued by the Feds?” Ohm had turned fully to Tyler when he’d asked this. His face was beat red and another fit of giggles threatened him. Maybe, thought Tyler, he's the one who needs the psychiatrist. Ohm turned back to Max, his smile gone and his face returned to its regular color.

“See this document here? It's a warrant. I'm going to get a stamp of your hand, like how hospital's stamp baby feet.” Tyler took this as his queue and quickly fled from the room to go and collect the I k pad and the legal paper required for such a process. As he left, Ohm distracted Max.

“Wilds already told you, but confessing now will make the court process so much easier on you.”

Max looked as if he wanted to speak but held his voice back. He had a chance! Every criminal has a chance. All he needed was reasonable doubt. He had that. Tom could be as equally as guilty as he was. It was Tom's car, it was Tom's gun deal, it was Tom who ran first. It was Tom who got them into this mess! The courts would surely agree with that, and he'd walk away scott free. 

“Max, if your prints match the ones we found at the crime scene, there’ll be no saving you.” His voice was gentle and low, pleading almost. 

Tyler reentered the room. Max eyes the ink pad the way a man might eye another stack of paperwork twelve minutes before it was all due. Tyler knew the feeling rather well. Max sighed aloud.

“I killed Adam. And I wanted to, god I did, but I didn't kill the other two.”

“You did.”

“I swear to you I didn't. I shot Adam and he bled out, I’ll admit that, but I didn't kill-”

Tyler gently took his hand and rolled the ink pad over it. He placed Max’s hand down upon the parchment and moved on to copy the action with the other hand. Max watched Ohm carefully.

“You killed them when you shot up the house while Adam had company over. You shot Steven first. Killed him instantly. Anthony wasn't long after. You killed all three men.”

Max’s face fell. Forgetting the fact that he practically had wet ink on his hands, he cupped his own face and a broken sob shook his shoulders. Purple handprints smeared across his cheeks. Tyler watched him a moment before turning to Ohm.

“We should get these back to the lab.” 

The two left Max alone weeping to himself. The others just beyond the mirror watched. It was a sad sight. Not sad because Max was crying, Smitty could happily admit that these tears gave him life, but sad in the matter of pity. It was sad knowing what that man was capable of and what he did and seeing him try to defend himself, so idiotically too, that was sad. And slowly, one by one, they left the room, no longer able to stomach the sad mess of a man any longer. Smitty held behind just a moment longer. Hate wafted off of him in suffocating amounts. This sight pleased him. And it thrilled him to know that he'd be behind bars for a very long time. And once that thought finally ran a lap in his mind, he left too. 

He needed to go to the store now. Marcel said that he wasn't allowed to drink anything that wasn't water unless it was in a sippy cup. He probably thought that he was so funny and so smart. Well how smart would he feel when Smitty actually purchased and used a sippy cup, huh? What then? Bet then Marcel would feel like the fool! Hahahaha! Maybe he should see a councilor. 

Tyler handed Evan the hand prints. He wanted to tag along but he didn't understand their science talk, just as they didn't understand his field talk. He didn't mind not going, he was every bit as happy to spend what ever extra time provided besides Ohm. 

“Paperwork?” He asked. Ohm shook his head. He'd finished most of it already, anyways. He had plenty of time to complete it before the work day was done and what ever he didn't finish he could work on while at home. 

“I wanna visit Jonnyboy in the hospital.”

“He hates it when you call him that.”

“Good. I hate it when he tells me that psychology isn't a real science.”

The two grinned at passing agents. All glared at Ohm as he walked. After all that ass kissing, after all that hard work, that office wasn't going to be theirs and they knew it. When Tyler got promoted, he'd likely give his office to Ohm. They hated him for it. But this didn't bother either Tyler nor Ohm in the slightest. Honestly, that office wasn't even that great. The only thing it had that the others didn't was the corner windows that looked out onto the world around them. It would have been a breath taking view if it wasn't overlooking a highway. Lame. 

“I mean,” Tyler began with a teasing smile, “It’s really not though.” While he said this, he didn't believe it. Not one bit. But it always amused him to see how it disturbed Ohm every time. 

“Why does everyone insist that my field of practice is false, misguided, and useless? People keep forgetting that the brain is an organ; and like every other organ, it can malfunction and get sick. It has effects on the body too! A chemical imbalance can cause such intense bouts of distress that people will chose to end their own lives rather than suffer with it anymore. Our minds have the ability to give life it's meaning or take it away. It gives humans our unique behavior, motives, ambitions, greed, everything that makes us distinctly human! I don't see the stomach killing a person over some money.” 

He cocked an eyebrow at Tyler, challenging him to start arguing like Jonathan always would. But Tyler didn't argue. He laughed, good god do he laugh! Tears streamed down his face. The little rant had been an adorable sight indeed! Ohm had turned several shades of pink all in varying intensities in the matter of seconds. The fact that he was laughing only seemed to paint him pink with anger. 

“How many times have you told that to Jonathan?”

“More than I can count.”

Tyler drew an arm over Ohm’s shoulders and pulled him close, maneuvering him through the office cubicles and over to the elevator.

“Something tells me you might have to say it a couple more times today.”

“Are you kidding? If he got hurt as bad as the doctors told me he did, them he’s going to be on some pretty strong pain meds. I'm going to mess with him. He won't even remember the fact that I'm a psychologist.”

Several other agents stepped into the elevator and they all began a rather uncomfortably quiet decent down. 

The two walked out to Tyler’s truck. Ohm climbed inside and smiled. His thoughts had been running in circles for a while now. And having finally detaining the murderer, he was free to let them. Tyler hopped in besides him grinned.

“You're smiling way too much for someone who's going to be visiting Jonathan in a hospital.”

“That's not why I'm smiling.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Because I've just realized a couple of things.”

Tyler let the engine roar to life before shooting Ohm a prompting look. Ohm shook his head, a faint blush tickling his ears and cheeks. 

“I just realized how bad I am at my job.” 

“That's not true-”

“I just realized that you've been hitting on me for a while now. God, I'm so stupid!” He laughed lightly. Tyler watched him, both nervous and lost in admiration at the same time. “I've been trained to look for emotions in the faces of people, even the smallest of wrinkles can tell me an unspoken thought. But I've been so focused on greed and hate that I've forgotten what love looks like. When I met Max, I thought what I saw on his face was the beginnings of love. But something was off. Now I know that whenever you look at me, no matter what you feel, anger, fear, concern, joy, you have what he was missing. I just realized that you love me.”

Tyler’s little heart was racing wildly inside his chest. It was banging on pots and pan, blowing on whistles, and screaming all at the same time. He hadn't felt so stressed since he was overseas firing blindly into the smoke and hearing bullets whiz past him. But this wasn't a bad kind of stress like that had been. Not entirely. He wanted to puke, no doubt, he wanted to get out of his car and play in traffic, but he didn't move. He couldn't move. He watched Ohm hoping that maybe he'd be able to obtain his magical face reading powers too. It didn't help him one bit. He took a shaky breath.

“Oh.”

“I love you too.”

His heart stopped its panicking and dropped its jaw. He honestly didn't see that coming one bit. Was this a rebound? It shouldn't be seeing as Max and Ohm never actually went out together. He smiled regardless. Joy washed away his doubts and his own smile caught his lips. He laughed.

“If this is your way of trying to get me to take you out on the date Max promised you-”

“I mean it's not...but now it is.”

“You're such a dweeb and you're lucky I love you enough to humor you. Now let's go visit Jonny.”

“That's a terrible first date,” Ohm grumbled.


	15. Fifteen

Jonathan sat lazily on his hospital bed rather upset that he wasn't allowed to leave. He didn't have time to sit in a hospital he had a murder to solve, damn it! He didn't care about the fact that he wasn't allowed to go to sleep or about the fact that the world was still spinning, or the migraine he had, or fact that the stitches were super itchy, or why he was in the hospital to begin with. Some ass hat had murdered some very good friends of his and he had shit to do to catch the fucker. Why couldn't these nurses understand? Dicks.

Words cannot describe to you just how thrilled he was when Tyler quietly slunk into his room. He smiled and sat up, wincing at the sudden throb that over took his head as it sent the world spilling. 

“Oh, good, you're here! Listen, you gotta tell that bitch out there that I can't stay here, I'm working.”

“Jonny, that bitch is making sure you don't die. Be nice to her,” Tyler chuckled. Jonathan wanted no such thing. Tyler set that aside for now. “Besides, you don't need to work on the case anymore.”

“Did I get laid off? I heard that Marcel nearly fired Craig and Smitty today-”

“No, Jon, we got him. We got the son of a bitch.”

Jon’s mouth hung agape and he just stared wide eyed at Tyler for a moment. Slowly, the gawk twisted into a rather eerie smile. He threw his hands into the air for a moment, though he wasn't sure why and just laughed. 

Oh great, Tyler groaned inwardly, he’s lost his mind. Jon practically wheezed, something that rivaled even Tyler’s, for a solid half a minute. When he calmed himself down, he found that he couldn't remember why he'd been laughing at all. 

Ohm stepped into the room with a timid smile. He'd just gotten done talking with Jon’s doctor and was fully aware of his symptoms. He was glad that things hadn't been worse. Jonathan could have lost his memories. Hell, he could have lost his life. Indeed they were very lucky that this delirious man before them was as bad as it would get.

Jonathan hardly noticed Ohm at first. He'd been watching Tyler take a seat when he looked over to see if that incompetent nurse had returned with more pain mess yet. Anshout quickly rattled the room.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“I jumped out of a moving car, what happened to you?” Ohm’s time was that if an unamused older brother. It was serious, deadpanned, and somehow still entirly jocular. 

“I was hit by a tackle box.”

The second the words tumbled from his mouth he regretted them. He'd been hospitalized because of a tackle box, a tackle box! Ohm jumps out of a moving car and just has a mummy wrap of bandages covering half his face and his arm. He sounded like a bitch dominated to his friend and that was infuriating. 

Ohm took a seat and began to fill Tyler in on Jonathan’s condition. The doctor said that there was a high possibility that he'd experience some behavioral changes, and mood swings. Decision making might become a struggle, but that wasn't really anything new. Hand eye corrdination might be fuzzy for a while but that should clear up. And of course he'd become sick with dizzy spells. Other than that, they were sure that he'd be alright. 

Now, normally, its improper educate for the author to shatter the fourth wall and speak directly to the audience, but I find that I must in this instiance. Not one person in that room fully knew just how Jon’s injury was going to ruin them. How bit by bit he'd crumble because the doctors missed something. And slowly, like a ball rolling ever so slightly to the edge of a table, everything would come crashing down. None of them understood how these symptoms would effect Jonathan and his work. None would know until it was too late. I'm sorry I had to tell you this, but I felt that I owed you at least this much. 

The three spent nearly an hour laughing and talking. Eventually the nurse had asked Tyler and Ohm to leave and Jonathan was left alone. And that was ok. He was tired anyway. He wasn't allowed to sleep, but he was tired anyways. 

Tyler had to agree. That had been a terrible first date. So to make it up to Ohm, he took him out to grab a coffee.

I am happy to tell you that this was the first date of many. Over the course of a week they'd happily gone out several timed and were comfortable enough to consider themselves dating. 

Over that same week, Jonathan had been allowed out of the hospital and was attending classes to help with the dizziness and hand eye cordnation. He noticed a slight tremor in his left hand. He thought nothing of it. He was just happy to be allowed to sleep again.

Max’s trail wouldn't be for a month or so. But Evan had been severly busy readying up the court case file. He'd had plenty of help from Craig and Smitty. These two knuckle heads had, at Ohm’s request, started hanging out together more in order to build a trusting bond between friends. They'd made remarkable progress and were as thick as thieves by Friday. 

Brock had finalized the last of the engagement proposal and was beyond excited. Likewise, Marcel had put the last finishing touches on his own proposal. Neither knew of the other’s plans. 

Luke sat lazily sprawled across the couch happily watching whatever the fuck even was the show currently on. He wasn't sure really. It was in German. Why it was in German was completely unknown to him, as he didn't speak enough to understand anything at all. But it was entertaining to say in the least. Definitely a soap opera, or at least a German version of a soap opera. 

The hand prints matched and Max was going to be locked away for a very long time. Tom too, but for other reasons. Evan had spent nearly all week in court trying to ensure of this. It had been a fairly easy case. 

Any minute now he'd walk through the front door, probably with some obscure fast food bag in his arms with enough food to feed seven starving children. Like would watch him chaotically remove everything from the bag and he'd be reminded of those circus clown cars. They'd likely not even eat all of it. Any second now and he'd be joking about how this was why texting was invented and “if you can't text, call me, honestly Even” and they'd laugh. 

But for now the house was calm and still, like it had been the day when they'd started the case. However, there was now a significant lack of rain. 

Evan opened the door, now absent of any food chain bags or even store bags. Empty handed. He ran to the couch, hopping over its back side and landing in a heap of limbs besides his husband.

“Guess what!”

“The dermatologist don't hate her and secretly all just have a crush on her?”

“What? No! I have a surprise for you.”

He sat up and threw his hands into his pockets. His knuckles got caught on the way out and it was an interesting spectacle seeing him try to rip his hand off to get free. Once he was free at last, he handed over two small slips of paper. He bit his lip with anticipation. Luke cautiously took the slips and stared at them. The suspicious look he'd been wearing only seconds ago had turned into one of surprise and pure joy.

“Greece? But you said that-!”

“I wanna make a deal. We’ll go to Greece, but only for a week or two. For our anniversary. That way you can go to Greece and I can rest easy knowing that we’ll come back here afterwards. Sound good?”

“Sounds fucking great! Oh my god!” 

After that, he didn't dare speak because he literally forgot every word ever. He was too happy to give a shit though. Still he emanated to show Evan how happy he was. Without a warning or anything, he tackled Evan into the cushions with a large and suffocating hug. It knocked the air out of Evan’s lungs and the resulting sound was this tiny and pathetic cry. A sound that nearly mimicked the cry of a piglet. Instinctively, he returned the hug. 

“You said you'd picked out some hotels? You still have those?”

Luke let go of Evan and frantically gave search for his phone. Evan watched entity amused. This, he thought, this was what it meant to be happy. This was bliss. Sitting there with a stupid smile that refused to leave his face while his adoring husband was running around wild looking for the phone, that was in his hand by the way, was not what he thought his future would look like when he was a boy, but he knew that he'd never give this up for the world. He took a second just to absorb the joy that radiated off of the two of them. 

“Can you call it?”

Evan nodded. He pulled out his own phone and did as asked. Luke jumped out of his skin when he felt something vibrate in his hand. He laughed twice then moved to rejoin Rvan on the couch. And together the two spent nearly an hour looking through the hotels available. They never did decide upon which hotel they'd stay in. Not that night anyways. 

They'd gotten into a small argument over what made a hotel good and had ended the kerfuffle by enjoying some sunday floats. Their ice cream also never got finished, but an entire can of whipped cream was gone before morning. It lay on its side on their bedroom floor lost amongst the forgotten sea of hastily removed cloths. 

Evan went back to work the following morning with a slight limp in his step which Luke would watch proudly. 

While this story ends with what can only be described as a happily ever after for most involved, I must tell you that the stories to follow won't quite hold the same truth. In fact, this one won’t either. If you want a happy ending, perhaps here would be a good place to stop. If not, then I greatly wonder about you.

Regardless, the night of the passionate love making, someone had broken into the Marsh. With the help of Brock and Luke’s computer room, they'd managed to jack into every file the geek squad ever saved. They had access into federal documents too. They went home later that same day to see if they'd done everything correctly. Much to their pleasure, they discovered that they now had access to every camera in the entire Marsh, every key card requiring lock, and the entire security system. Inna single moment, they felt like a god! But this had only been the technical work. The real fun was only beginning. And it would start with a man with brown hair, brown eyes, and an amazing set skills very few could rival. 

The following Thursday morning, the body of the man had been discovered in what appeared to be the third stage of decomposition (this would entail that the body would have been left out for a few weeks, instead of just a few days) wearing a necklace of bird feathers. This would be the first of many. 

And that is where this chapter must end. With a happily ever after to our once upon a time, I leave you with my least favorite sentence.

To be continued~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> # 2 gets released this Halloween! My treat to you! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Much love- UWot

**Author's Note:**

> Worry not! There will be legitimate smut!! Just not in any near by chapters XD


End file.
